Page 88 of Scout
“I think…” I start, voice catching. “I think I’m falling for you two, too.”
Kendrix sucks in a breath. Xavier’s jaw twitches like he’s trying not to smile too fast.
Then the car turns a corner, slows down.
“Perfect timing,” Kendrix mutters.
I glance up.
We’re pulling into the lot of a place I haven’t seen in years. The bar is squat, brick, and plastered with glittery rainbow paint. The marquee glows like a beacon.
QUEENS & CHAOS — TONIGHT @ 9PM
I stare. “A drag show?”
“Local,” Kendrix says. “Low-key. Thought it’d be fun.”
“You okay with it?” Xavier asks.
I nod. “Honestly? Yeah. Kinda love it.”
We park. Head inside. It smells like beer, perfume, and hairspray. The lighting is pink and purple, and everything sparkles. It’s loud, unapologetic, and kind of perfect.
We find a booth near the center, and just as we sit, the first queen struts onstage in a sequin catsuit that defies gravity and probably has its own fanbase.
The show kicks off and I forget how to stop smiling.
Xavier hands me something fruity and strong. Kendrix cheers loud enough to startle the table behind us. I laugh. Like, really laugh.
Halfway through, one of the queens locks eyes with Kendrix and yells, “You! Pretty boy in navy blue! Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”
Kendrix shakes his head, hands raised. “Noooo thank you?—”
Too late. She’s dragging him onstage for a dance-off.
He tries to decline. Fails. Ends up doing the worm while the crowd screams.
I’m crying from laughing so hard. Xavier records it. Kendrix bows dramatically before returning, flushed and grinning.
We drink. We snack on soggy bar fries that taste like heaven after two rounds of neon cocktails. We lean in close to shout jokes over the bass and laugh until our faces hurt. I forgot how much I needed this.
When the queens take their final bows and the house lights shift from spotlight to pulsing color wash, the crowd spills out from booths and bar stools onto the dance floor. It’s not packed, but there’s enough movement to feel the rhythm thumping through the soles of my shoes.
I glance at Xavier. Then Kendrix. “Should we?”
Xavier grins. “Do you even have to ask?”
Kendrix downs the last of his drink and slides out of the booth, already moving toward the floor like he owns it. Xavier grabs my hand, pulling me after them, and my heart leaps stupid and giddy in my chest.
The music is loud. The kind of loud you feel in your ribs. A remix of something vaguely early two-thousands.
We don’t choreograph anything. There’s no practiced rhythm, no practiced anything. It’s messy and chaotic. I start out dancing solo, a little unsure, but Kendrix circles back and bumps his shoulder into mine with a grin that dares me to loosen up.
So I do.
Xavier joins in, his movements smoother, more grounded. Kendrix has this wild, unbothered energy; like he’s burning off years of tension with every step. And I’m somewhere in the middle, letting myself laugh too loudly and move without caring how I look.
I spin and suddenly I’m between them. Their bodies close to mine, not pressing, justthere.
