Being hopelessly in love with your best friend sucked. And even if he was telling everyone I was his boyfriend this weekend so we could take advantage of the plus-one perk that had come with the performance gig he’d been hired for, the truth was that all I was ever going to do was want him. It didn’t matter if he was wearing a ten-stone wig and six-inch platforms or a plastic bag from Tesco. It didn’t matter that I’d never been attracted to boobs before, or that Jules’ insanely sexy slim shape was totally transformed by Diva’s curves. About a million years ago, when Jules had first started learning to tuck and figuring out who Diva was, I’d thought seeing him with boobs and hips would give me a respite from all the unrequited yearning I’d spent half my life trying to hide from him, but no such luck. The kind of hate that I’d usually spend a good twenty minutes working out in the shower after he went to sleep, if we’d been back at our flat. Well, lime juice, soda water, and a cherry because Jules had apparently thought it was funny to tell the waitstaff to make sure my drinks were never without one. I kept forgetting it was only lime juice and soda water because Jules had told me not to drink tonight. “Shoot,” I mumbled, grabbing the drink in front of me and chugging it for my sanity. I squirmed in my seat, not daring to reach down and adjust in the middle of such a swanky venue, and she winked at me, spread her thighs wide, and thrust her hips in my direction, because of course she’d seen.

Light usually worked a crowd like nobody’s business, but tonight she’d been staring right at me through her entire number, and even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t this time, all the superheated, undivided attention had gotten me hard.

All the Queen's Men by Chara Croft