Page 76 of Knot Just for Show

Teddy and Lysander, seemingly joined at the hip since we agreed to go to the reveal, stumble their way up the steps—ever in a state of play; mock-fighting and rough-housing between hurried debates on comics, anime, and video games. Teddy’s outfit has an almost feminine quality to it—obscenely sharply tailored slacks, a black vest with an oversized collar—no shirt beneath it; his golden chest and muscular arms on full display—a pair of pointed toe white snakeskin loafers really sending the look.

Meanwhile, Lysander is dressed almost as if he’s Teddy’s photo-negative; a pair of bone-colored khakis fixed to his narrow natural waist by a tan leather belt—a snowy white ribbed cotton tank top accessorized with a simple gold chain—his dark hair swept back from his face in a ‘do suspiciously like Teddy’s pompadour-esque coif.

“So—how was it, man?” Teddy waggles his brows at me knowingly as Ronan passes me a seven and seven in a highball glass.

“The date—I mean, man,” Teddy clarifies after I take a sip of my drink rather than answering him.

“I mean—it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say it was the best day of my life, but it wouldn’t be too far off,” I admit, trying to cover my own vulnerability with a cavalier laugh.

Teddy lets out a long, low whistle—while the others watch me carefully.

“I don’t know if that’s infatuation talking, or you know.” I drop my gaze to my own crotch for a fraction of a second before redirecting back to the others. “But it’s the truth, my dudes. I got roped into this bogus gig tonight because Timmy and Kimmy started imposing themselves during our designated alone time—and I just wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible.” I raise my glass to the boys as if making a toast—to my delight, they raise their glasses in kind—adding their laughter to my own.

We’re all clinking glasses when suddenly Lysander’s face goes slack—his eyes twinkling as if he’s seen the stars for the first time.

“And she will wear the stars and moon in the night sky as her cloak,” Lysander reverently quotes under his breath as I turn my head to face the top of the stairs.

Holy shit—Lysander wasn’t underselling it. Ursula looks incredible. A shiny chrome string bikini glimmers from beneath a black bodycon mesh dress—the elasticized transparent fabricdotted with tiny luminous bits of Austrian crystal—a few of Ursula’s silver lavender stretch marks peeking through the dress like slivers of moonlight. My eyes follow from the top of her head, down to her perfectly manicured toes—peeking out from the sky high stiletto sandals she’s wearing—greedy for the sight of her.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever worn this few clothes out before.” She fidgets with the rhinestone clamshell clutch in her hands—her doll-like lashes fluttering.

“There’s a first time for everything, Princess.” Teddy beams—all of his weight loaded into the balls of his feet as if he’s about to pounce on her like some kind of jungle cat.

“Personally, I’d like to see the whole outfit before we have to share this hotness with the rest of dinner service,” Ronan purrs, winding his index finger in a circular rotation in a silent request for Ursula to give herself a spin around.

“There’s more than enough of me to go around,” she grouses in a careless moment of self deprecation.

“Hey,” Mavren clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “None of that—none of us will hear a bad word spoken about your incredible body,” he warns sternly. “Not even from you—got it?” He softens slightly, crossing the space between us to place a kiss on her bright red lips.

“You're lucky I’m wearing waterproof mascara—and no-budge lippy.” Ursula sniffles slightly, blinking away a few errant tears—rolling her lips together out of habit as she runs her thumb over Mavren’s full lips to make sure she hasn’t left her crimson mark on him.

“Alright—you asked for it.” As she turns for us—Mavren lets loose a little groan of appreciation as we get a view of her chrome thong bathing suit bottoms through the sheer fabric of Ursula’s dress.

It’s going to be a long night of looking without touching, I realize—suddenly jealous that I’ll be stuck behind the turntables while the guys actually have a chance to dance with her. Then I remember just exactly the little sound that Ursula makes right before she’s about to cum—and I think better of my jealousy.

Dinner passes by in a blur. Everyone talked about their day over pitchers of citrus fruit laden Sangria and plates of grilled delicacies until all of the plates were cleared away—the six of us ushered from our empty table to the resort’s beachside event space; the stage in place for destination wedding DJs is shockingly similar in size to some of the smaller venues I’ve played throughout my career—the dance floor populated with a slew of guests from the resort in addition to our burgeoning pack; but none of the other contestants. The odd mix of almost exclusively honeymooning couples and packs in addition to our motley crew was certainly a choice, but I suppose that if they didn’t want the shot to be empty—and they’re not going to let all of us animals from Build-A-Pack-Blind into the same enclosure just yet…this was probably the best solution.

It feels a little skeezy to be roped into this half-assed ‘Exclusive KR3OSOT3 Set,’ but what do I care? I’ve long passed any window for ‘artistic integrity’ in my career—if this is a stepping stone to being happy with my new pack? It’s a price I’m willing to pay.

Dignity who?

Anna and the rest of Pack Milton have shown up for the occasion—Anna in a tiny glittering cocktail dress to match her bedazzled microphone as she steps up to the edge of the small stage to announce me.

Like always, I’m wearing a pair of enormous mirrored sunglasses to keep myself from being blinded under the impressive array of lights the resort has mounted above the stage; one side of my omnipresent in-ear monitors dangling over my right shoulder—its clear neon yellow plastic nearly glowing under the stationary spotlight—the other firmly lodged in my left ear.

I spent the precious time between the end of my nap and getting dressed for tonight, cobbling together a short set from some of my existing live show set lists. I listen to the starting click track in my monitors as Anna finishes her introduction, “Without further ado, DJ KR3OSOTE!”

I begin to spin, one of my early songs—a standard ‘house music’ vibe; one of my more popular hits with a decidedly more ‘nu-disco’ number waiting in the wings.

It’s not hard to find them at the edge of the crowd— Lysander and Teddy on either side of Ursula—like the cartoon Devil and Angel respectively; perched on her sparkling shoulders.

Mavren and Ronan stand just behind—one of Mavren’s long-fingered hands resting at the curve of Ursula’s thick waist—enjoying the view from behind just as much as he’s denying it to others in the venue—I’d imagine.

Lysander bobs his head, clearly familiar with the song—but not quite dancing.

I slide the fader—crossing into the next song; a platinum top ten single popstar on the vocals.

All of their faces light with recognition now. I watch Ursula—her nerves quieted by several glasses of sangria and the better part of a blunt Ronan rolled—as she moves from the brass railingthat separates the bar and seating area from the crowded dance floor into the wind of moving bodies.

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