A guy in a skirt wouldn’t turn a straight guy on, right? I spent the last decade performing next to him. I’ve never looked at him as more—until I walked in on him in a skirt. He’s as broken as I am. We survived our childhood together. And when he’s finally trying to embrace the parts his father tried to beat out of him, I can’t handle it. He’s taunting me with smeared eyeliner and a filthy smile, singing to a sold-out crowd, and it’s getting too hot under these stage lights. I can’t look him in the eyes. I can’t be with him—not like that—but I can’t stop thinking about him. He's pushing me over the edge. Now, we’re banished to this forsaken celebrity timeout—to play emotional chicken—and he’s determined to make sure I lose. He’ll push every button I possess until I give in.