Page 21 of The County Fair Queen

"What do you expect me to do? Send him away?"

"Just—I need…"

"Tell him you just saw us head over to that karate place," Jordy suggested. "Say Phillip wanted to check out the owner's ass or something. Phillip's a man-whore, so it won't come as a surprise that he's lusting over the guy."

As Evelyn's shoes clacked heavily against the floor, I glared at Jordan. "Iwillkill you, Jordan Miller. Don't think I won't smother you in your sleep."

He snickered before leaning over and pecking me on the cheek. "Nah. You're a big softy, Phillip Firecracker."

"So is the pillow on my bed. You'll be finding out later tonight."

"Is that right?" a new voice said.

Motherfucking motherfucker! No. No, no, no!

"Rivers," Jordan called, waving up at the mayor, who was staring down at us. "Good to see you."

"So," he said, arching an eyebrow at me. "You're going to have Jordan biting your pillow tonight?"

I was going to kill him. That's what was happening. Right there, in Evelyn Foote's paper-mache homage to her dead best friend, Rivers was going to lose his life. Maybe Vivian would be there to greet him at the gates.

"Why are you following us? Stalk much, Pippi Longstalking?" I said.

"That Bernadette lady told me I needed to come and find you. She said you had a proposition for me. I told her it sounded sort of tawdry." He tossed me another of his stupid, unrequested winks. "But I'm not opposed."

"Who the hell is this Bernadette everyone keeps going on about?" I glared at him, hoping my anger was clear. "And theonly thing I'm proposing is your untimely death." Why wasn't he leaving? "You can go, Rivers. I don't need you."

He flinched. "Oh. Okay, well…" He paused, staring down at me with a curious expression. Regret, maybe? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, the look didn't suit him. "She said you did." He attempted a smile, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "If you change your mind, I've got the rest of the day open. I'll be around the square if you need me." With that, he turned and made his way out of the store.

"Was that really necessary?" Jordan scolded. "He walked out of here looking like you killed his puppy."

Before regret had the chance to flood through me, Evelyn glared down at us. "Alright," she said, her voice much sterner than before. "I'm going to have to insist that you remove yourself from Vivan's crevice.

I gagged. "Jesus, Foote. Could you think of a less lascivious way of framing that demand?" I hoisted one leg over the side of the pump, gripping the edge for support. There was a distinct tearing sound that filled the room, and the next thing I knew, Jordan and I were lying on the floor. The dismembered remains of Vivian VanDamme's effigy were shredded and scattered around us.

"I think," Evelyn started, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I think you should both leave. Please, don't come back."

"What if I need shoes?" I hissed.

"You can buy them at the Wal-Mart. I'm sorry, Phillip, but you're banned. If I see you in here again, I'll call the authorities."

I stood, taking a step toward her. "Your edit on this docuseries will be brutal. You will be shown no mercy."

"It’s probably not the best idea to threaten an innocent bystander, Phillip," Jordan said, grabbing me by the wrist and tugging. "Come on, let's just leave."

"No mercy!" I shrieked again, holding a fist in the air.

There was a broom propped against the wall, and Evelyn walked slowly toward it. She took the broom by the handle and held it up like a baseball bat. "I said, out!"

As we exited the shop, I turned to Jordan and scowled. "This is your fault. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I know the fault lies squarely on your shoulders."

He stalled, facing me and cocking his head to the side. I wasn't sure what treachery he was planning on throwing my way, but from the glint of terrorism floating in his eyes, I knew I would hate it. "The next time you speak to me like that, I'll fuck your dad out of spite. Watch your tone."

I gaped at him. “You’re—”

“Fired. Yeah, Phillip. I know.”

Across the square, Rivers was helping a game booth vendor line up a selection of glass bottles. Try as I might, I couldn't understand his ridiculous behavior. The way his eyes lingered every time he caught sight of me. The stupid, almost flirtatious tone in his voice. If he had been anyone else, I'd have thought he might be interested. This was Rivers Rivera, though. Men like Rivers don't notice men like me. Not with my pudgy tummy or receding hairline. Not with the crinkles—not wrinkles—forming in the corners of my eyes. Besides, Rivers was straight. Probably.

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