Anyone But You Read online

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 1537

  Burnsville, NC 28714

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Anyone But You

  Copyright © 2019 by Brien Michaels

  Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design-portfolio.html

  Editors: Grace Stack, Veronica Vega, Carole-ann Galloway

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-890-7

  First edition

  December, 2019

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-891-4

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  Murder is one hell of a drag.

  Jack Kieza has a problem. He’s deeply attracted to men, but his homophobic family has left him too afraid to act on it. With his thirtieth birthday around the corner, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he finds himself at a gay club. After spending a fiery night with drag queen Sheila Saltue, everything changes. Especially when he discovers her alter ego: his boss, Ryan Swift.

  Ryan knew he should’ve said no the second Jack approached him. Now he can’t stop himself from texting Jack every chance he gets. But Jack won’t let him take the wig off during sex, and being Sheila off-stage is wearing thin.

  The more time they spend together, the more intense their feelings get, but Jack isn’t ready to date a man yet. When drag queens start turning up murdered, it forces Jack to reexamine his feelings, because what if Ryan is next? While Jack wants their burgeoning relationship to work, it would mean having to admit who he is to the world. And that’s an idea as frightening as death.

  For Sue, Elizabeth, and Melissa, who encouraged me to keep at it when I thought this book was garbage. For Katie, who is one of the kindest people I know. For my Little Monster, who’s still trying to find his way. And for Silk, because I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you.

  About Anyone But You

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Interlude: Unknown

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Interlude: Unknown

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Interlude: Unknown

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Enjoy More

  Ryan hated doing his makeup at the club. De-dragging was one thing, but he liked to focus when he was painting his face, and having half a dozen other people running in and out around him made that a little difficult. But the Owens’ case had kept him at the office longer than he’d wanted, so he had to do what he had to do. He slid the wig cap into place, twisted the top off his glue stick, and started gluing down his brows.

  Usually, unless he had something special planned, he let his hands do the walking and let the final product be a surprise. Tonight, he wanted a more classic feel. Something understated, more woman than queen. Something that might make Jack take a second look.

  Woah.

  Where the hell had that come from? He blinked himself back to reality, noticed he’d overdone his nose contour, cursed under his breath, and wiped it away before starting again. Already his mind was wandering, back to Jack, the associate they’d hired at the office a few summers ago. Jack was attractive, sure. And yeah, Ryan might have wanted to drag him into the copy room and show him how all the buttons worked. Once or twice. But the first rule of being a good boss was you didn’t fuck your subordinates. No matter how much you wanted to.

  And he really wanted to. A few weeks ago he’d gone down to the gym on the second floor of their office building to grab a quick shower before his show and found Jack on the weight bench, muscles bulging and body glistening. It had been nearly a full minute before Ryan had realized he was staring. Mouth dry, Ryan had dipped out of sight as Jack dropped the bar back into the cradle with an audible grunt of relief.

  Ever since then, Ryan had seen Jack all over the office, like Jack had been following him. He’d even thought he’d detected a hint of flirting, but it was probably all in his mind. Even if it wasn’t . . . he could never go there. Career suicide, party of one.

  That didn’t stop Ryan from wondering what Jack looked like out of those clothes, though, as he beat his face with setting powder and let it do its thing.

  He pulled on his outfit for the night, then spun this way and that in the mirror, making sure the sequins still caught the light the way he wanted.

  There was a knock at the door, and he turned, raising an eyebrow. The queens in this club didn’t usually knock. They barged in, got what they needed, and left. “Come in?”

  Justine poked her head in. Her wig looked like a giant beehive, yellow, streaked with white and little patches of black every few inches going up.

  “Just wanted to check in and tell you to kill it tonight.”

  Ryan smiled at the queen who’d put him in drag for the first time. “Don’t I always?” Justine blew a kiss and backed up.

  There was a thud from the hallway, followed by Justine’s disgusted grunt. “Can you watch where the fuck you’re going?” Then the click clack of heels, and she was gone.

  Valentine appeared in the doorway, glaring back the way she’d come. “God, I can’t stand her. Always walking around like she owns the place just because she’s been around since before the bug walked.”

  Ryan smirked. “You two need to fuck already and get it over with.” He inspected himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he pulled his wig from the foam head and pinned it into place.

  Sheila was making her appearance once more, and it was time to give her adoring fans what they wanted. “See you, bitch,” she said to Valentine, giving her an air kiss.

  She left the dressing room and headed for the stage.

  Thinking with your dick was never a good idea. Jack had learned that back
in high school, but he’d stopped using his upstairs brain to think as soon as Sheila shimmied on stage, sequins glimmering in the club’s overhead lights. The drag queen’s set had started with a slow, sultry song that’d gotten Jack’s pulse racing, and now, she was doing acrobatics on a pole one of the bouncers had wheeled out for her. Fuck, he needed to get laid.

  And he hoped Sheila would help him with that. She jumped off the pole and landed in a split, grinding against the ground to the beat of one of Britney Spears’s early hits. Jack swallowed. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the queen. Her face was mostly makeup, that was clear, and she was still one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen. There was something familiar about her, as well, though. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he felt like he’d seen her before. The horndog in him wanted to get closer. Wanted to know more. Wanted to know if she’d do a split like that on his cock.

  He took a few steps forward, pulled some ones from his back pocket. Everyone else had thrown their bills on the stage, but he wanted her to know that these were from him. He sidled up to the edge and shook the dollars to signal her. She looked down, faltered for half a second. He wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been watching so intently. A heartbeat later, she was back on routine. She sank to her knees and crawled to him, eyes practically screaming Fuck me! as she lip-synched.

  Her face was nearly in his crotch before she straightened up and gestured for him to stick the money in her cleavage. He did as instructed. Their eyes met and he licked his lips. He wanted to follow her to her dressing room, bend her over the vanity, and not stop until she saw stars. But that would be creepy. He couldn’t go back there, uninvited. Maybe if he had a chance to talk after the show, he could charm her and she’d invite him. Yeah. That’s what he’d do.

  She winked and climbed to her feet, giving her ass a little shake before strutting off to the other side of the stage.

  He needed a drink. A cold shower. Anything to take his mind off her. He couldn’t tear himself away, though. He stayed rooted to that spot until she took her final bow.

  “My name is Sheila Saltue,” she said in a false, chipper voice, “and I’m here every weekend. Thank you all for coming!” She busied herself collecting the rest of the dollar bills as the club’s own music blared through the speakers and the crowd surrounding the stage started to disperse.

  Jack looked around. While Sheila had been on, a red glow had filled the club, adding to the allure of her performance, but now it was just a room again. Dance floor right behind him with couples here and there, grinding against one another to whatever song was playing. The bar was on the other end of the floor, crowded with people getting their liquid courage for the night. The bartender was flustered already. Jack scanned the balcony above them. A few people leaned against the railing, but everyone was absorbed in their own conversations. Which meant that no one was paying attention to him.

  This was his chance. Jack approached the stage, throat suddenly dry. His dick strained against the fabric of his boxers, and he’d go insane if he didn’t find some relief soon. If he couldn’t hit it off with Sheila, he’d beat off in the bathroom and then head home.

  She looked up at him, and there it was again, that flash that something wasn’t right, but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. So fast he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “Hello,” he said, a little more hoarsely than he liked, so he cleared his throat and tried again.

  Sheila smiled, a thousand-watt gleam that made her even more gorgeous. “Hey, handsome.”

  Jack dared to take a step closer so they wouldn’t have to shout to hear each other over the music. “I’m Jack,” he said, holding out his hand, which she took in a surprisingly strong grip. “I really enjoyed your show.”

  Her smile became a grin. “I could tell. You almost put my eye out with that thing.” She gestured at his crotch, and it took everything in him not to cover it. He shouldn’t have worn the sweats. “I’m Sheila. It’s nice to meet you.”

  They stood in silence for a full five seconds before Sheila nodded and went back to collecting her pay. Jack racked his brains for something, anything to say, but he couldn’t think straight. His brain wasn’t working at all, but he couldn’t let her leave without trying.

  He took a seat on the edge of the stage, still trying to figure out his next move. This was so stupid! What had he been thinking?

  That you wanted to fuck a man before you’re thirty, and since you’re too much of a chickenshit to just do it, a drag queen is the safer bet. Since, you know, they at least look like women.

  He hated the part of his brain that answered questions he hadn’t actually asked. But it wasn’t wrong. Not really.

  “Well, I’ve gotta run, cutie, but I’ll see you around. Come check me out again.” She turned and headed for the steps.

  “I was thinking about trying to get into doing drag,” he said, inventing wildly. “Could you maybe give me some pointers?”

  She paused, spun around, and met his gaze again. “Have you now?”

  No. He absolutely had not. “Yeah. But I don’t know how to do makeup or anything about wigs or dresses or stuff like that.”

  She shot him a skeptical look. “You should maybe get a crash course in all that, first.”

  “Yeah. I was hoping maybe you could help me.”

  She appraised him for a moment. She didn’t seem to buy what he was selling but, right when he thought she was about to dismiss him, she jerked her head in the direction of a corner shrouded in shadows. “Follow me.”

  His heart pounded as he tailed her down a hallway. Posters advertising different drag competitions lined the black walls. Red lights shined down on them from little circles in the ceiling. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off the queen, though; the way she filled out the skirt she wore, the glimmer of her top. Even her fucking pantyhose sparkled.

  They turned a corner, and he could see a door set into the far wall. The closer they got, the harder his pulse beat. Maybe this was a mistake. Underneath all that foundation, Sheila was still a man. Jack had never been able to keep it up when he’d tried to fuck a man before, so why should this time be any different? They always got him hard in the beginning, and God, he always wanted to fuck them, but he’d get to “go” time, and everything would go to shit. Every time, without fail, he’d imagine his parents, or his fucking brother, or one of the other homophobic assholes in his family (Cal), and he’d go soft in an instant. What would they think of him if they knew what he was doing?

  He wanted to turn and run before he embarrassed himself again, but sheer determination kept him following. He would try, because he couldn’t go his whole life refusing himself his desires. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, it didn’t.

  They made it into the dressing room at last, and Sheila shut the door behind them. This was nothing like he’d imagined. He’d pictured a large, expansive space with a line of lit vanities and mannequin heads topped with wigs and rows and rows of dresses and heels. But this was almost exactly the opposite. It was hardly bigger than his bathroom at home. There was only one mirror perched atop a rickety-looking table and a large rolling rack to the right of it. On the tabletop were a few palettes of color, tubes of what Jack assumed were foundation, some brushes, and one foam head, but that was about as glamorous as it got.

  The aroma of cinnamon hanging in the air struck him as odd. Not exactly a staple smell for the backroom of a club he would have thought. He’d imagined it would have been more musky. Jack looked around and saw a scent diffuser plugged into a socket right next to the makeup station.

  Sheila leaned against the wall to Jack’s left, drumming her false nails against a nail file Jack hadn’t even seen her pick up. She studied him a moment, seemingly taking in every inch of his appearance. When their eyes met, she smiled again and tilted her head to the side. Jack found himself inspecting her wig. At least, it seemed like a wig. The blonde hair could have easily been coming out of her own scalp. He didn’t
see a line or an imperfection anywhere.

  “It’s called lace-front, honey,” Sheila said. “Designed specially to make it look like I grew this all on my own.”

  Jack’s face flooded with heat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stare.” God, could he be any more of a creep?

  “It’s fine.” She pushed herself off the wall and strode over to the mirror, where she took a seat and regarded him again. “People have been watching me all my life. May as well give them something to look at, right?” Jack nodded. But he still felt like a boob. “So what’s your style?”

  “My . . . my style?”

  “Yeah. Which corner of drag calls to you the most? Are you one of the pageant girls? Comedy? Are you a dancer? A singer? Or are you interested in the scandalous underbelly?”

  “I . . . um . . .”

  After a moment, Sheila sighed. “Let’s cut the crap, what do you say?” Her voice had dropped an octave or so, and now it sounded familiar. He just couldn’t place where he’d heard it. “It’s obvious you don’t know enough about drag to care about doing it, so why are you really here?”

  Jack bit his bottom lip. “Honestly?” He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “So why didn’t you say that? You didn’t have to make up a story.”

  Jack shrugged and leaned against the door. “I don’t know. I got nervous and it just came out.”

  “I hope that doesn’t happen often,” Sheila said without missing a beat.

  Jack blinked. “That sounded dirty.”

  Sheila tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned to the mirror. “Maybe it was.” She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of her mouth. “Or maybe it wasn’t. That, my dear, is for you to decide.”

  This was his chance. That had basically been an invitation, right? But Jack’s legs had turned to lead. He tried to take a step forward, but the only thing he managed to do was stand there and look like a dummy.