Lying back on his bed, Matthew Swain was grateful to be done with yet another of his father’s campaign rallies, but he still felt like shit. That probably had less to do with the rally—God but this election was exhausting—and more to do with the pictures he kept thumbing through on his phone.
He’d been down and depressed all day, and now he was wallowing in it. One photo after another, he tortured himself with the man he couldn’t have and the ache in his chest that refused to budge.
With his heart in his throat, he gazed at photos of Raymond. Candids. Some selfies they’d taken together. That bright, magical smile Matthew had fallen so hard for. Each time he swiped to another photo, his heart hurt a little more.
He had no idea what Raymond saw in Kyle Whaley, but it didn’t matter. Maybe he’d been restless about dating a man who was holding on to his virginity. Maybe he’d just . . . No, really. It didn’t matter. In the end, Raymond and Kyle had sent him a selfie from Kyle’s bed, and that had been it. For weeks now, Matthew had been aching over it, but tonight it was bad.
Part of the problem was that he was no longer running around the state with his father, helping him campaign. The summer was over, and like his brothers, Matthew was going to classes again, attending rallies, and helping out with the campaign when he could.
The worst part was that going to classes also meant occasionally crossing paths with Raymond. Today, he’d seen Raymond and Kyle on campus in the commons. Just one glance, and Matthew’s spirits had splatted on the pavement like a dropped snowball. Since then, he’d been feeling sorry for himself, and now that he was home with a little privacy, he kept looking through all the pictures he couldn’t make himself delete. It was oddly comforting that no gay man in his right mind would engage in public displays of affection in Arbor Hills. As much as Matthew hated the conservative town’s deep-seated homophobia, at least he didn’t have to watch Raymond and Kyle being lovey-dovey and holding hands or something.
Talk about cold comfort.
He frowned as he stared at his screen. There was a shot of Raymond in sunglasses and a baseball cap. It was a photo Matthew had taken from the passenger seat of his now-ex-boyfriend’s car, and just looking at it—God, it hurt. He didn’t want to be over it yet. Okay, he didn’t want to hurt anymore, but he just wanted to wallow and—
The phone vibrated, startling him so bad he almost dropped it, and a FaceTime request popped up. Matthew was in no mood to chat, but . . . eh. It was his best friend. At least Jude understood what he was dealing with.
So, he accepted the chat, and a second later, Jude appeared on the screen. He must have been lying on his bed too, because his tight black braids were splayed on his pillowcase. “Hey, honey. How are you?” His voice was playful as always, but held a note of concern.
Matthew shrugged and didn’t care how pathetic he sounded as he said, “Meh.”
Jude scowled. “You’re pining, aren’t you?”
“Just a bit.”
His friend huffed. “Matthew. Ugh. You have got to let that boy go. Unrequited love is a waste of time.”
“Yeah, well.” Matthew sat up and rested the phone on his knee. “You fall for someone like him and get dumped like I did, and then tell me what a waste of time it is.”
Jude shook his head. “You just need to get out and find somebody else. That’ll get your mind off Tweedle Dickhead and his new Tweedle Dumbshit.”
Matthew managed a laugh, but it was half-hearted. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”
“The hell you will. Do you know your mom is so worried about you, she actually asked me tonight to find out why you’re so depressed?”
“When did you talk to my mom?”
“Bumped into her at the gas station. She told me she’s worried and wanted me to find out what’s up.” Jude eyed Matthew. “Of course I know what’s up, and no, I didn’t tell her you’re nursing a broken heart over your stupid ex-boyfriend.”
“Thank God for that,” Matthew muttered. Lord help him if his family found out he’d ever dated a man.
“Yeah, well, I promised her I’d cheer your ass up, which is why I’m taking you to Beta Phi’s Halloween party tomorrow.”
Matthew’s stomach turned. The thought of going out and socializing did not appeal nearly as much as another night of staying home, licking his wounds, and feeling sorry for himself. He shook his head. “Like I said—I’ll pass.”
Jude scowled. “Come on. You need to go.”
“Oh yeah?” Matthew laughed dryly. “Why is that? And why the hell are they having a Halloween party two weeks before Halloween?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Jude practically groaned the words. “They’re having it now so they don’t have to compete with all the other parties. Duh. And you should go because you need to get out of this post-Raymond funk.” A little smirk played at his lips as he singsonged, “And Levi Mason will be there.”
Matthew swallowed. Oh God. Levi Mason, the smoking hot basketball player who’d been the stuff of Matthew’s fantasies since middle school. If there was anyone alive who could still get Matthew’s attention after Raymond, it was Levi.
“Come on,” Jude pressed.
Matthew chewed his lip. He really didn’t want to go to the party, but admittedly, he got a little thrill from the prospect of being in the same room as Levi. They’d crossed paths a million times, even exchanged smiles once or twice, and Matthew had been bound and determined to work up the courage to talk to him. Especially once he’d heard—ironically by way of one of his homophobic brothers—that Levi was gay.
“Fucking fag doesn’t belong in a locker room,” Derek had snarled after practice one night. “I don’t care how good he is. I’d rather have a damned towelhead on my team than a cocksucker.”
That had sparked a heated debate over the dinner table, culminating in the Swain family bellowing back and forth over whether gays or Muslims were worse. Eventually everyone had agreed that if they ever came across a gay Muslim, they’d shoot the son of a bitch, and then there’d been some musing about whether conversion therapy would help both “issues.” Matthew had come away with a sick feeling, and also with the knowledge that the man he’d been lusting after did, in fact, play for his team. And now that Raymond was out of the picture . . .
“So?” Jude prodded, bringing Matthew back into the present. “You in?”
“Are we invited?”
His friend grinned wide. “We don’t need to be. It’ll be a huge party. And besides, everyone will be in costumes and drunk out of their minds. Who the hell is going to be looking at us?”
Matthew still hesitated. While Jude could walk among any crowd, the Swain family wasn’t exactly popular in certain parts of town right now. Particularly where college students—bleeding heart commie liberals, according to his father—congregated. Then again, if there were costumes and beer, Matthew probably wouldn’t even be noticed. And maybe Jude was right. Maybe a party would get Raymond out of his head. At this point, he was ready for anything—risks be damned—that would get Raymond out of his head. Especially if that something turned out to be Levi Mason.
“Okay,” he said with a nod. “I’m in.”
“Wonder Woman?” Matthew mused as he climbed into Jude’s car. “Really?”
“What?” Jude gave an indignant sniff. “There a reason Wonder Woman can’t be black?”
Matthew just chuckled. “Come on. Let’s do this.”
Jude flashed him a typical wicked grin, and pulled away from the curb. “What the hell kind of costume is that, anyway?”
Huffing impatiently, Matthew tapped the white mask covering one side of his face. “Phantom of the Opera. Obviously.”
His friend smirked. “Really?”
“What?” Matthew mimicked him from a moment ago. “There a reason the Phantom can’t be gay?”
Jude burst out laughing. “No, but maybe going as a character from musical theater isn’t the best way to keep a house full of frat boys from figuring out you’re gay.”
Matthew sobered. “I just . . . thought the mask . . .”
“Relax.” Jude gave Matthew’s thigh a firm pat. “Nobody there is cultured enough to recognize the Phantom. If they are, toss the mask, say you’re Dracula, and tell ’em you had to take out the fangs so you could drink.”
Matthew blinked a few times. “It never ceases to amaze me how much bullshit you can come up with at the drop of a hat.”
Jude winked. “It’s a talent, darling.”
Twenty minutes later, after they’d had to park four streets over, Jude and Matthew arrived at the party. And wow, Jude was right—the party was huge, everyone was drunk, and most people were in costume. Despite the chill of a looming Midwestern winter, the front lawn was packed with people, most of them huddled around two beer pong tables. A guy in a cowboy costume was passed out by the hedge. Some hulking dudes in football uniforms laughed and drank beer; Matthew was pretty sure they were actual football players who’d just been too lazy to put on costumes. A bored-looking Marilyn Monroe in a white dress listened half-heartedly to a guy in a caveman costume who probably thought he was a lot more interesting than he was.
Inside, not surprisingly, were even more people, more costumes, and more booze.
Halfway to the kitchen with Jude, Matthew stopped and did a double take. By the stairs, three people were chatting. One was an Avenger he couldn’t identify. Another was what he assumed was a slutty or sexy taxidermist, judging by her skimpy scrubs and the stuffed beaver tucked under her arm.
But Matthew didn’t spend much time trying to figure out which Avenger that was or if he’d really interpreted the taxidermist costume right, because the third person in the group had grabbed his attention. The guy was dressed as a suicide bomber, complete with his chest blown apart and what looked like chunks of a book stuck to him. Matthew would have bet money those were pieces of an actual Quran.
He scowled. This party might have been full of racists and Islamophobes, but a costume like that still seemed a bit . . . uh . . . excessive.
No one else seemed bothered by it, though, and there were at least a handful of people here who were clearly Middle Eastern or South Asian. Or maybe they just weren’t saying anything. If they did, someone would flip out about censorship and liberals and whatnot, and there’d almost definitely be a fistfight. It was an unspoken rule in this town that even in more liberal places like this, you picked your battles. Everyone knew if someone was called out for a stunt like this, the worst backlash wouldn’t land on the guy in the costume. Anyone who’d lived in this town more than twenty minutes knew how it would play out. Brown people in jail, white people in the newspaper as victims of assault. Matthew could think of at least three incidents where Jude had found himself on the wrong end of such a “misunderstanding.”
Matthew felt for all of them. Especially since his dad was one of the most vocally Islamophobic city council members, something his supporters loved about him. That was the main reason that while Dad’s poll numbers were up and down all over the state, he was predicted to win this district by a landslide. Matthew shuddered at the thought of how things would be in this town after the election, regardless of who won.
“Come on.” Jude tugged at his arm. “You want a beer or not?”
Oh, he definitely needed a beer.
He followed Jude, and Jude moved effortlessly through the crowd, greeting people he knew and flirting and joking. He’d always been that way—the life of the party who, despite standing out from the mostly white population of Arbor Hills, still managed to blend seamlessly into any group. Even the Swain clan had accepted him early on. Jude’s father ran a chain of successful car dealerships and was a deacon at the church. He had enough wealth and influence that there had always been an unspoken agreement to overlook the minor detail of his dark skin, not to mention Jude’s, which had only been lightened a few shades by his white mother’s genes. The Waller family’s popularity had swelled as the Muslims started flocking to Arbor Hills; maybe they were an interracial family, but they were rich, they weren’t Muslim, and most importantly, they weren’t Hashmis.
As Matthew followed his charismatic friend through the crowd, he kept his head down, suddenly feeling very conspicuous. Even if people here agreed wholeheartedly with his father—which would be rare among a crowd of “brainwashed hippie liberals”—he didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t like being the son of an outspoken Islamophobic councilman or senatorial candidate—it made things awkward enough at times with his biracial best friend—and he especially didn’t like being that guy at a party where no one was offended enough or felt safe enough to call out the guy wearing a suicide bomber costume.
I should’ve gone to school out of state.
And I shouldn’t have come to this party.
But he was here, and he doubted Jude would want to leave anytime soon, so he might as well enjoy himself. Maybe he’d stop pining over Raymond and— Yeah, no. He didn’t see that happening anytime soon. His heart ached just thinking about Raymond and that naked selfie he’d sent to let Matthew know it was over. Even the thought of maybe connecting with Levi couldn’t get his enthusiasm off the floor.
Why am I here again?
Sighing, Matthew pulled a beer from one of the cases. His friend had already inserted himself into a conversation with some cheerleaders—or at least women dressed like cheerleaders—so Matthew quietly slipped out to the spacious living room where most of the party seemed to be happening.
There were clusters of people everywhere, and none of them seemed remotely inviting to him. Matthew’s heart sank. He hated that his father’s reputation preceded him. That he’d had to find a costume that involved a mask just so he could stroll through this party as easily as Jude could. Not that he’d ever be that charismatic or fearless.
He fussed with the mask. It was held in place by adhesive on his forehead and cheek, and it was already getting itchy. He didn’t want to mess with it too much, though, or it would pop off and the adhesive might get too weak to stick again. That wouldn’t be good. No one needed to see his face here.
So, safely hidden behind a mask, why was he so worried about approaching strangers and striking up conversations? It wasn’t like they’d know who he was, so who cared if he made an ass of himself? But whether or not people cared who he was, would they be weirded out if they realized he was gay? If he flirted with a guy?
Well, Jude was comfortable here—in a Wonder Woman costume, no less—so maybe not?
Tapping into every reserve of confidence he had, Matthew scanned the room again in search of friendly faces, and this time, someone caught his eye.
Not Raymond. Not Levi.
Whoa. This guy had the most gorgeous face Matthew had ever seen. Perfectly arranged jet-black hair. Eyes so dark they might’ve been black too. Full lips. Smooth, olive skin. Sculpted muscles adding delicious contours and shadows to his bare arms.
He was dressed as some kind of Greek god, and the toga he wore left half his chest exposed, revealing a thin fan of dark hair.
Oh God.
Raymond who?
The guy smiled suddenly, raising his Solo cup in a subtle toast, and Matthew realized he’d been staring. He quickly jerked his head to the side, pretending to be looking at someone or something else.
That lasted all of about two seconds before he needed to steal another look at that guy’s costume. Yeah. That was it. His costume. The toga and the gold leaves in his hair and . . . Yeah. Totally.
When he looked again, though, the beautiful man was gone. Matthew couldn’t find him at all.
He sighed. Damn.
He turned to sip his drink, and stopped so suddenly he fumbled with the nearly empty can in his hands.
The guy was there. Right there. Facing him. Looking at him. Smiling at him.
“Uh,” Matthew sputtered. “Hi.”
“Hi.” The guy had seemed all confident and bold, but now that they were facing each other, that appearance wilted slightly. He bit his lip, dropping his gaze, and he tapped his fingers on the Solo cup like he wasn’t sure what to say.
Matthew swallowed hard, then extended a hand and hoped like hell it wasn’t too sweaty. “I’m Matthew.”
The other guy brightened, shaking his hand. “Rabi.” He paused, then gestured with his Solo cup. “You want to go out back by the pool? It’s a little quieter.”
Matthew nodded. “Yeah. I could use another drink anyway.”
Rabi smiled. “I’ll follow you.”