Rabi could barely breathe as he tailed Matthew out into the backyard. Was this stupid? He hadn’t even really seen Matthew’s face. His eyes, yes, and the lower half of the left side of his face, but the white plastic mask covered almost everything.
Still, what little he’d seen had been enough. Those eyes. Something about the crystal blue, and the way they’d locked on Rabi’s, and the way Matthew had blushed when he’d looked away—the pink on the side of his face not covered by the mask—had drawn Rabi in.
Rabi was usually terrified to approach men. Homophobia and Islamophobia were both huge in this stupid town, and just glancing in a man’s direction had been enough to get him threatened before. But that lingering stare and the hint of shyness had given Rabi some boldness he hadn’t had before.
They stepped outside, and instantly, the world was quieter. He hadn’t even realized how loud the house had gotten, and the change was jarring.
While the front yard was full of people, the backyard was relatively empty. There were coolers, and people would come out and get a drink when they needed one, but otherwise, just a handful of groups and couples dotted the concrete patio and the fenced-in yard around the giant pool. It was far too cold to swim, so the water was calm, the bright turquoise light giving the whole place a cool cast.
Matthew tossed his beer can into the recycling bin. He pulled a couple of fresh bottles out of a cooler and offered one to Rabi.
Shaking his head, Rabi put up a hand. “No, thank you. I, um . . .” Rabi had no idea why his face was burning. “I don’t drink.” Matthew’s eyes darted toward the Solo cup in Rabi’s hand. Rabi held it up. “It’s Coke.”
“Oh.” Matthew straightened as if he’d suddenly realized something. “Right. Because you’re Muslim, right?”
Rabi nodded.
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot Muslims don’t . . .” He gestured with his own beer. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
“Is it okay if I do?”
“Matthew.” Rabi shook his head. “If I couldn’t cope with being around people who drank . . .” He gestured at the party they’d left in the house.
“Good point.” Matthew chuckled, and he seemed to relax. He put the second beer back in the cooler, used a bottle opener to crack his own, and started to take a drink, but paused. “Okay, this is driving me nuts.” He cast a sweeping glance around the yard, then put the bottle down, gave his plastic mask a tug, and swore under his breath as the adhesive let go, making a sound like Velcro ripping apart. “Much better.”
As he turned toward Rabi again and brought his beer up to his lips, Matthew’s face came into the light, and Rabi . . . stared.
The blue eyes and that cute blush had been more than enough to reel him in, but now he could see everything. From Matthew’s slim lips—which looked utterly sinful around that beer bottle—to the smooth but pronounced shape of his cheekbones. Removing the mask had revealed a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, and it had also left his reddish hair slightly ruffled, and Rabi didn’t have the brainpower to figure out why either of those things were so adorable. And hot. And why he desperately wanted to run his fingers through Matthew’s hair and smooth it back into place.
Matthew studied him, and tensed. “What?”
“Nothing!” Rabi shook his head. “I, uh . . .” C’mon, c’mon . . . “Thought I recognized you. Now that I can see your face, I mean.”
That didn’t help. Matthew’s whole body seemed coiled all of a sudden, like he was ready to bolt at the drop of a hat. “You . . . you do?”
“I said I thought I did.” Rabi smiled. “You just looked like someone I know, but you’re not him.”
“Oh.” Matthew exhaled, and that tension melted right back out of him. “Okay.”
“Why? Are you a fugitive or something?”
Matthew laughed, a hint of uneasiness creeping back in. “No. Not a fugitive. So, um, you go to Western?”
Rabi nodded.
Matthew sipped his beer. “What are you studying?”
At the moment? You.
His own thought brought some renewed heat to his face, and he cleared his throat. “Business. Nothing exciting. What about you?”
“Don’t know yet.” Matthew shrugged. “Trying to find that balance between something that won’t bore me to death, but also won’t disappoint my parents.”
Rabi laughed. “I can relate. I was really leaning toward social sciences, but my parents insisted I need every advantage I can get in this country.” He sighed. “So, business degree.”
Matthew scowled. “Right? Mine are pushing me toward law. That way I could go into politics like—” He hesitated. “What parents don’t want their kid to be president, you know?”
“Yeah, mine can dream, but I don’t see anyone in my family getting elected that high anytime soon. Not even those of us who were born here.”
Matthew opened his mouth to say something, but right then, some noise and chaos turned their heads.
“Matthew! Go!” A black guy dressed as Wonder Woman came sprinting out onto the patio, several frat boys on his tail. He grabbed Matthew’s arm and nearly pulled him off his feet as he dragged him along. “Gotta go, gotta go!”
“What? But—”
“I’m gonna kill you, fucker!” someone boomed from the direction of the house.
Matthew gave the door a glance, and then his eyes widened and he sprinted after the other guy.
“Wait!” Rabi cried. “I didn’t get—”
But Matthew was gone, beer bottle shattering on the concrete as footsteps faded into the night, tailed by the shouts of half a dozen frat guys chasing after them.
Into the silence, Rabi finished with a faint and pitiful, “—your number.” He looked down. The glass hadn’t hit him, fortunately, but a few splatters of beer had landed on his mostly bare feet—tiny icy reminders that the brief encounter hadn’t all been in his mind.
Rabi’s older brother Eshaan appeared beside him. Eshaan’s nostrils flared and his jaw was clenched. Under his breath, he muttered something Rabi didn’t catch.
Rabi eyed him cautiously. “Uh, what happened?”
Eshaan rolled his eyes. “Idiot started going off at the mouth. You know how it goes—drink too much, talk too much.”
Rabi laughed dryly. Yeah, no one ever did that in this town.
Then Eshaan turned to him and asked in Urdu, “What were you doing talking to him?”
Rabi glanced around uncomfortably. Speaking in their native tongue wasn’t always a good idea, especially at parties where it was acceptable to dress as a suicide bomber, so he kept his voice quiet. “The drunk idiot? I wasn’t talking to—”
“Don’t play stupid. You know who I mean.”
Rabi narrowed his eyes. “It’s a party, Eshaan. I thought talking to people was the idea.”
Eshaan grunted. He glared in the direction Matthew and the other guy had gone. “You don’t want to get involved with him. Do you know who his father is?”
Rabi shook his head, cringing inwardly. Something told him he didn’t want to know.
His brother faced him, eyes hard. “That’s Bob Swain’s kid.”
“Bob—” Rabi sputtered. “Like, the Bob Swain?”
Eshaan’s lip curled in disgust. “Yeah, the Bob Swain. The one who brings his fucking kids to those protests outside the mosque.” Pointing sharply in the direction Matthew had taken off, Eshaan added, “Bet he’s brought all of them.”
Rabi suddenly wanted to be sick. No. There was no way Matthew was one of them. No way. When he’d realized Rabi was Muslim, he hadn’t been put off. Not for a second. He’d actually gotten a little embarrassed and flustered, thinking he’d committed some huge faux pas by offering Rabi a drink. “He’s—”
“Enough.” Eshaan jabbed Rabi’s chest and looked right in his eyes. “Stay away from him, Rabi. I mean it.”
Rabi gritted his teeth. He didn’t dare argue. Eshaan was the only one in the family who knew Rabi was gay. Rabi trusted him to be quiet about it, but if Eshaan thought Rabi might be interested in one of the Swain boys . . . well, anything was possible.
“All right. All right.” He showed his palms in surrender. “I won’t go near him.”
Eshaan glared at him. Then, apparently satisfied, gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going back inside.”
Rabi just nodded. After his brother had gone, he dropped into a chair by the pool and stared into the darkness, as if he could still see Matthew disappearing into the night.
Their father was running against Bob Swain for that coveted seat in the Senate. Especially with the election just weeks away, even a rumor about their sons talking—never mind flirting—would be enough for a scandal. The kind of scandal that could cost them votes. A lot of his father’s local constituents belonged to their mosque, and even those who didn’t were largely on the conservative end of liberal. In a conservative little Midwestern town like Arbor Hills, a Pakistani Muslim immigrant politician already had an enormous disadvantage, and it didn’t help that he was a proud Democrat running in a red state. He had enough going against him without also having an openly gay son, least of all one who had stars in his eyes for a motherfucking Swain.
Rabi’s shoulders sagged. Maybe it was just as well Matthew had taken off. Much more time together, and they’d have exchanged phone numbers. Run the risk of this turning into more than a conversation at a party. And that had been a very real risk. Rabi didn’t have much experience with dating, but there’d been something there. Some kind of tiny spark that didn’t seem like it would take much fanning to get deliciously hot and maybe even a little out of control.
He shivered. The risk to his father’s political career notwithstanding, the temptation to connect with Matthew—to somehow reach out to him and see how out of control this spark could get—was almost irresistible. He’d never before felt such a powerful need to know someone, and that had started before he knew who Matthew really was.
If he did reconnect with Matthew, though, he would have to keep it a secret. They’d have to watch over their shoulders at every turn if they saw each other again.
I must be insane because that almost sounds worth it.
Sighing, Rabi shifted his gaze to the shattered glass at his feet, and he swore under his breath as his heart sank.
Of all the families Matthew could’ve belonged to in this town, why did he have to be a Swain?