Exotic

~ communication is key ~

"Alright," Aaron placed his drink down on the table we shared on the balcony. I'd taken off my heels, feet blistered from the show, and was sitting forward on the table, having just laid out my entrails for him to peruse. "Let me get this straight. Every Friday you haven't been able to hang out with me, this is what you've been doing?"

I nodded. "It's not the most conventional money maker, but I was never cut out for pizza delivery."

The show had wrapped up an hour ago, and after an hour of dancing, we'd escaped the crowds upstairs. People approached every so often to strike up a conversation with me, but most of them had the self-awareness to see my attention was occupied. Aaron was drinking Shirley Temples. When I coaxed him to try something stronger, he'd argued that he was driving.

"You drove to a club on your eighteenth birthday?" I had laughed.

"If you had told me it was a club, I might have gotten an Uber," he'd argued back. "Besides, I didn't know whether you were going to explain yourself. I wanted an exit strategy."

I had shut up at that and gotten myself a fruity mocktail to match his pace. Being sober at Crescendo was a new experience. The vibe downstairs was very different from our domestic hangout up top. It felt very Miles-and-Aaron, chilling out at his place in front of a movie, despite the lights and flashiness around us. I had decided I didn't hate that, although I had warned him we would be joining the mosh pit at some point. It was his eighteenth birthday for crying out loud.

"And no one knows about it," he was asking, tapping the rim of his drink. "Alba knows about the clubs, and Lauren knows about the drag, but no one knows all of it?"

Everything on the table, except Caleb. It had been the one thing I held back on. But there were ways I could leave him out of my story without lying to Aaron's face. My relationship with Lauren had only really started after she'd begun tutoring me; it was easy to leave out our first meeting, and explain the misunderstanding with Reece and her mother without mentioning I'd rushed to her brother's rescue after a night of misinterpreted signals. It was sad, how easy it was to write him out of my narrative. "You're the only person I ever wanted to know about all of it. I just worried you would... disapprove."

"Because of the drinking and women's lingerie and the fact everyone this side of town thinks you're twenty-two?" he shook his head at the table. I crossed my arms over the lone white bra I had on and shrugged. "Even if I did disapprove, when have I ever acted on things I object of? I greet every one of Max's girlfriends with a smile, and I've been your alibi to Reece more time than I probably even know."

"It was never about you spilling the secret," I argued. "I knew you wouldn't. But it's a lot, and I never want you to feel like I'm forcing you to keep my secrets. What I'm doing here isn't legal."

Aaron nodded like he had already considered it. "How'd you get the gig? Fake ID?"

"I never needed it," I sipped my drink. "People trust each other in these clubs until you give them a reason not to. I started hanging around the clubs a few months after I started painting myself, and apparently, I look older with lipstick and fishnets because they generally let me in, no questions. There was a karaoke night at Avenue Q, the manager asked if I wanted to host a few of them after hearing my killer rendition of Holding Out For A Hero. Then she recommended me to a few other clubs because I arrived on time and could generally hold a crowd's attention and suddenly I had a resume and legitimate referees in place of legitimate ID."

Aaron whistled. "Isn't it difficult? To keep up the ruse?"

You have no idea. "I have the occasional slip-up, but again, people trust each other. It's a community where we protect each other, look out for one another. I wanted you to see the slightly more fabulous side of this heteronormative cesspit."