Page 7 of We Could Be Heroes

“What are poppers?” asked Hector. Patrick didn’t dare look him in the eye.

“You all know the drill by now,” Tammy continued. “I’m in need of a strapping young volunteer!”

Patrick felt rather than saw the audience’s eyes all turn on him, Hector, and Corey.

“We’re strapping,” Corey beamed, reveling in the attention and—Jesus, had Patrick had too much to drink or did Corey just make his pecs dance under his shirt?

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…” the queen sang, pointing at each of the men in turn. “Catch a himbo by his toe…Once he comes, let him go, eeny, meeny, miny…moe!” Her smoky stare settled on Patrick and turned hungry.

“Yes, you.” She grinned. “Come on up!”

“Oh my god,” said Audra. “I am so jealous.”

“I think she likes you,” Hector snickered in his ear.

“I’m waiting!” The queen tapped an imaginary watch.

“Oh, just do it,” said Audra, pushing him forward. “I dare you!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Patrick moved through the crowd and stepped up onto the stage to join the queen, who was holding the mic out to him.

“Um,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hmm.” She looked him up and down. “I think I prefer when it doesn’t speak.” A murmur of laughter drifted up from the crowd.

“Wait a minute,” the queen said, examining him further. “Hold the bloody phone just one second.”

Here it comes, Patrick thought, and he adopted the aw-gee-shucks smile that he kept in his back pocket at all times, like a condom or an EpiPen.

“You’re him! Off of those films!”

“Yeah,” he said, turning his smile toward the audience, who were now beginning to coo in recognition.

“Well I never.” Tammy leaned forward, as if she had been physically winded by this new knowledge. She jolted upright a second later, and Patrick could see the devil in her eyes. “You know, folks,” she said, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a celebrity join us for poppers o’clock. Unless you count Joe Lycett, and I don’t, because he’s always bloody in here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” said Patrick, uncertainly. And there was the devil again.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Tammy sidled closer, unscrewing the bottle as she did so. “Here we go then, just like jumping in a pool. Deeeep breath!” She closed a finger over one of his nostrils and placed the bottle under the other. And Patrick didn’t know if it was the disorienting lights in his face, or the beers, or the fact that tonight was the most fun he’d had in weeks, but for a single second he forgot about every single rule that went into maintaining his perfectly crafted image and breathed in.

“Wahey!” Tammy cheered, and the crowd cheered with her. “He’s off the deep end, boys and girls! Now watch as I dive in!” She sniffed the bottle with practiced ease, and as the music started again, the entire club began to swim.

“You’re a good sport,” Tammy whispered in his ear, holding his hand so he could step back down off the stage.

“I am?” Patrick giggled as his cheeks flushed, and a half-remembered giddiness rushed in. “I am!”

“Hey, buddy.” He felt Corey take him by the arm. “I think it’s time to go.” Patrick looked around and saw Hector folded protectively around Audra while more people surged onto the tiny dancing area, shouting her name. Shouting his name. Shit, Patrick thought, his mind clearing a little. This was what he’d been worried would happen when they came out tonight. Well, not specifically this—he hadn’t exactly predicted getting just lit enough to do poppers onstage like an absolute idiot (Simone was going to kill him).

“Hey, man,” Corey yelped after an overenthusiastic stranger cupped his bottom with both hands. “Listen, I’m an ally, but that is not cool.”

“All right, that’s enough,” came a new voice from somewhere above Patrick’s right shoulder. He turned and looked up into a pair of dazzling green eyes, winged with black eyeliner and framed by a red wig.

“Come this way,” the queen told Patrick, sweeping the others along with a wave of her arm. She led them through the chaos to the DJ booth at the side of the stage, and then through a door behind it. Once they were all ensconced in the tiny passageway, she closed the door before opening another one leading out onto the side street behind the bar.

Patrick staggered as he departed the venue, his warm face tingling in the cool night air.

“What’s in poppers again?” he asked, eyes closed, savoring the breeze.

“They’re a muscle relaxant, bab,” their rescuer said. “And you’re not short in that regard, but I reckon you’ll be fine in a minute.”

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