Page 7 of The County Fair Queen

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously, I meant Rivers. I mean, did you get a load of that—"

"If you finish that sentence, I will chop your body into tiny little pieces and feed you to feral hogs."

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you because I was still speaking." He paused. "Are you good? May I continue?"

"You're acting like a child."

"And that," he said, reaching over and tweaking my nose, "is why you love me. Now, as I was saying, did you see that ass? I'm not usually one for daddy fetishes, but…" His eyes widened as he fanned his face dramatically. "Daddy, please."

Jordan could argue he didn't have a thing for older men all he wanted; we both knew it was a lie. His last relationship was with a seventy-year-old man named Richard Gere (no relation, though they did look almost identical), and it only ended when the man's family placed him in an assisted living facility three hours away. Richie and Jordy had tried to make it work for a while. When the Dear John letter arrived, informing Jordy that one of the physical therapists, a nineteen-year-old twink named Tyler, had stolen Richard's affection, I thought it might just ruin him. Thankfully, he'd had me to stitch his shattered heart back together.

Still, he was bringing up Rivers again. As much as I loved my friend, I ignored him for the next five minutes as punishment. There are many things I would indulge him in. Rivers Rivera's voluptuous ass was not one of them.

When Minnie returned with our meals, she didn't have her world-famous Minnie's Meatloaf in her hands, as I'd ordered. Instead, she was carrying a steaming plate of waffles smothered in whipped cream and honey, decorated with a single dollop of cotton candy.

"Jesus Christ," Jordan said, gawking at the plate. "It's like I'm staring at adult-onset diabetes in physical form."

Minnie set the plate in front of me, clapping my shoulder gently. "I know you said you wanted lunch, but I figured you might prefer your usual instead."

"Usual?" Jordan said, gasping. "You've eaten this before? Willingly?"

"Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it, sunshine," Minnie said. "Phillip used to stop in every morning before school for one of these. Breakfast of champions, he used to say."

"Clogged arteries for daysis what I say," Jordan said. "Seriously, Phillip. That's going to eat away at your insides. I'm going to have to insist—"

I scooped up a slice of the southern delicacy and shoved it into his mouth to shut him up. Jordan's eyes went wide as he let it sit on his tongue. Finally, he worked his jaw, moaning out his approval.

"If I die," he mumbled through the mouthful of empty carbs, "I want you to bury me with a plate of these."

"Good, right?" Minnie said with a smirk. "I told ya, breakfast of champions. Nutritious and delicious."

"Oh, it's absolutely toxic," Jordan countered once he'd swallowed. "But I'm pretty sure my tongue just had an orgasm."

"Well," Minnie said with a wink. "Keep throwing me those bedroom eyes, and your tongue won't be the only one enjoying the…flavor."

Jordan hid his face between my shoulder blades and wept.

When our meal was done, we stood to make our way out of Minnie's diner. Only inches separated us from a graceful exit, but those inches spread to miles when the sound of chairs scraping against tile screeched through the diner. Turning, I watched in wide-eyed wonder as every patron rose to their feet and gave me a round of applause.

Minnie hobbled over and pinched my cheek before pulling me in for a hug. "I'm so proud of you, sugar. We all are."

"Minnie, I—"

"Hush now," she said, stroking my hair. "Just take it all in, baby. You've earned it."

I didn't know how to tell her I hadn't earned a single clap. That every face in that crowd was applauding a two-bit hack. Tothem, I'd just been the pretty boy with big, brown, doe-like eyes. The man whose entire face was framed around two delightfully prominent cheekbones. A set of unnaturally dark lashes which made it appear like I was wearing mascara at all times. The sassy songbird with a dazzling personality. What they didn't know was this songbird couldn't hold a note to save his life. Ironic, given my choice of career. I wasn't sure how many of them caught my early-aughties on-air demise. Had they all watched with the rest of the world as my backing track failed to play, and I ridiculously belted out the acapella performance that ruined my solo career before it even began? And if so, why the hell were they clapping for me? What had I ever done to deserve it?

I gave my adoring public a parting wave and a wide smile. The applause died down, and the bell chimed behind us as the door closed. Jordan wrapped an arm around my waist, snuggling in close.

"I'm proud of you, Phillip. I know this isn't easy, but I really feel like this is going to work out for you."

"When I fall on my face—"

"I'll be right there to catch you," he interrupted. "And then we'll start over. Listen, I know we don't reallydofeelings, but there isn't anyone that deserves this more than you." He gripped the back of my neck and squeezed. "I believe in you, Phillip."

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with all of this attention. "Yes, well. Clearly, your questionable standards of entertainment leave much to be desired."

"Clearly," he agreed. As he opened his mouth—probably to release more unrequested sappy words of encouragement—panic overtook me.

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