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  Since it was a warm spring Saturday night, the streets and sidewalks swarmed with people. Couples, many of them same-sex, walked along sidewalks hand in hand. Drag queens shimmied to music blaring out of open doorways. Many seemed to be locals with a purpose or destination in mind, who didn’t seem to notice the color and exuberance around them.

  It was easy to spot the tourists too. They were the ones who looked like travelers visiting a foreign country. Goggling eyes tracked the movements of some of the more flamboyantly dressed individuals, and wallets came out to buy multicolored souvenirs.

  Connor didn’t gawk as much as the tourists. Yeah, his eyes caught the outrageous and glitzy, but he focused more on the less showy aspects. In particular, couples holding hands seemed to draw his attention. “It must be nice for them here,” he said, watching two middle-aged men drinking coffee, hands clasped in the center of a small table. “To be able to hold hands and whatever, without worrying that someone will come by and judge them or threaten them. You hear about that kind of stuff all the time, hate crimes, gay bashing, that kind of stuff. I’m surprised anyone has the guts to be openly gay.”

  His pants didn’t have pockets, so Graham tucked his thumbs into the leather waistband. “No one should have to hide who they are or who they love. If no one has the courage to stand up and declare ‘I’m queer’ then the entire LGBT community will eventually get buried in the closet.” It might have sounded like an ad, but he’d learned the hard way that hiding didn’t help anything. It just made things more complicated.

  “I don’t know how you do it, man.” Connor stepped around a tourist who stopped to peer into a shop window. “You don’t hide who you are. Even knowing that people like Roy and Clint will try and make your time in Green Valley miserable, and knowing that the town is full of narrow-minded, Bible-thumping rednecks, you don’t hide who—or what—you are.”

  Graham shrugged and tried to sound casual. “I am who I am.”

  “You can make light of it all you want,” Connor said, “but it takes a lot of strength to do that.”

  “Here’s our stop.” Grateful to change the subject, Graham pointed at a glowing neon sign.

  A long line snaked from the entrance: dozens of boys and girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty waiting restlessly, impatience pouring off them in waves. “There’s only an underage night once a month. It gets pretty packed.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Connor eyed the crowd with interest as they made their way to the end of the line.

  “Nope, Internet. I’ve been to a couple like it in St. Louis, but this is my first trip to Boystown.”

  “Whoa.”

  They’d reached the end of the line and Graham immediately understood Connor’s shocked mutter. The person in front of them was completely decked out. A cropped shirt of black mesh covered, sort of, his lean chest. Very short, very silver, very low-riding shorts banded his narrow hips. Connor’s eyes widened comically. He quickly looked at others in the crowd, checking out the outfits. Though there were a few in skimpy or excruciatingly trendy clothes, most dressed like Graham and Connor. Seeing this, Connor relaxed. He turned to Graham, his voice low, lips tilted in a smirk. “Did you forget your metallic shorts at home?”

  Graham blinked and laughed at the picture in his head. “I just had this image of me running around like Rocky.”

  “The boxer?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

  Eyebrows raised in question, Connor told him, “A long time ago.”

  “Rocky was the buff blond guy in gold shorts.”

  “Well, I’m the blond, and I guarantee I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing glittery gold shorts.”

  “Oh, honey, I wish you would.”

  Gaping, Connor whirled around. The boy in silver shorts eyed Connor up and down, spending way longer than necessary on his thick arms and broad shoulders. He barely reached Connor’s chin, but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer.

  “What?” Connor blinked down at the guy.

  “You. Gold shorts. Yummy combination. Hi, my name is Liam.” Liam tilted his head to the left, looking up at Connor from under his lashes.

  “Uh….” Connor cleared his throat and threw a desperate glance at Graham. “I’m Connor?” It sounded like a question. Graham was about to introduce himself when the line started to creep forward.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Connor.” Liam linked his arm with Connor’s. “Shall we?”

  “Uh….”

  Taking sympathy on the panicked look Connor sent his way, Graham stepped forward. “Liam.” He halted the other boy’s progress with a hand on the mesh-covered shoulder. When big green eyes met his, Graham pulled Liam’s arm away from Connor’s. “He’s taken.”

  Glossy lips pouted. “Well, darn. It’s always that way. Save me a dance, though, ’kay?”

  Connor blinked wide-eyed at the boy after he’d turned around. As much as he wanted to grin at the red covering Connor’s face, Graham took pity on him. He distracted Connor with questions about baseball while the line crept forward. Finally they reached the entrance and had to pull out their IDs for the bouncer. Graham pulled out his wallet and handed over the cover charge. “I got it,” he said when Connor followed suit. “It was my idea to go out, I’ll foot the bill.”

  “Really—” Connor began, but Graham cut him off.

  “I got it. Don’t argue.”

  Chapter 18

  THE BOUNCER barely glanced at their driver’s licenses before wrapping a hot pink band around each of their right wrists. A wall of heat and sound crashed into Connor the moment he stepped through the entryway. Dozens of small tables surrounded the packed dance floor, and a bar ran the length of one wall. Teenagers lined up three-deep at the bar. Whenever someone stepped back, a bottle of water or cup of soda in his hand, the crowd immediately sucked up the empty space. Neon lights and lasers flashed and bounced around the darkened club in a pattern that somehow matched the pulsing beat of the music. Connor blinked, trying to focus on where Graham led him. He’d never seen anything like it. The Green Valley Elks Lodge, the most popular hangout at home, couldn’t compete.

  Graham leaned close to shout in Connor’s ear. “Close your mouth, buddy. You look like a landed trout.”

  He snapped his jaw shut and did his best to look casual. The heat and humidity made him very glad he was wearing the thin tank shirt. Within seconds sweat built at his hairline. “There are so many people.”

  Graham looked at him, cupping his hand around his ear to indicate that he hadn’t heard Connor’s words.

  “I said there are a lot of people here.” Connor raised his voice and leaned close enough his mouth practically touched Graham’s ear.

  Graham smiled and nodded, motioning Connor to follow him through the writhing bodies. Graham pointed at an empty table near a shadowed corner—the only empty one Connor could see—and made his way through with an ease that Connor wished he had. Connor tried to stick close to Graham, but no matter how many “excuse mes” he uttered, he almost always had to tap someone on the shoulder to get through. Graham, on the other hand, seemed to slip and slide between the people like water through rocks. He’d wound a couple of yards ahead when he noticed Connor’s difficulties.

  Graham snaked his way back and grabbed Connor’s hand. “Sometimes you’ve got to push your way through,” he shouted, towing Connor in his wake.

  Connor found it a little easier to navigate with Graham creating the path. He still had to occasionally twist sideways or tuck in his shoulders to get around people, but at least it was progress. He didn’t think he’d ever come into contact with so many bodies before. It was suffocating there, with the crowd packed in all around him. The person behind him was plastered against his back, and a heavyset girl pressed so tight on his right that her blue-striped hair stuck to his sweaty arm.

  Someone farther back must have tripped, causing a chain reaction of collisions. The guy following him lurched for
ward, hitting the middle of Connor’s back. The momentum forced Connor to tip. There wasn’t enough room for his feet to adjust to the unexpected force. Afraid of crushing half a dozen dancers, Connor planted his feet and jerked Graham against him, using the counterweight of Graham’s body to keep from falling.

  Graham froze, and as far as Connor could tell with the way he was pressed against Graham from thighs to shoulders, he was pretty sure Graham had also stopped breathing. They stood there, Connor holding one of Graham’s hands in his, and his other arm wrapped around Graham’s waist, hand pressed flat against Graham’s stomach. The firm muscles beneath his palm twitched, and Connor’s pulse beat out a faster rhythm.

  Was he really hugging his friend? Was he really enjoying hugging his friend? Everything he understood about what was right and what was wrong battled for dominance in his head, leaving him more confused than ever.

  Graham’s free hand came to rest on top of Connor’s, pressing Connor’s palm into the ridges of his abdomen. Not pushing Connor’s hand away, but holding it in place. Graham tilted his head back, and Connor’s chin grazed his cheek. Connor inhaled, soaking up the scent that somehow defined Graham—his light cologne, the slightly fruity odor of hair product, and that indefinable something that was Graham.

  “Get a room!” The Moment—another capital-M moment like they’d shared in the locker room weeks ago—shattered.

  The crowd around them pushed forward. Connor and Graham could either move with it or get trampled beneath a hundred pairs of feet.

  As soon as he could speak through the haze of hormones, Connor released Graham. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.” Graham had to shout to be heard. “This place is packed. You go claim that table, and I’ll grab us a couple of drinks. What do you want?”

  Connor thought about rejecting the offer—he really didn’t want Graham to keep paying for him; it wasn’t a date—but the surrounding heat had him dying of thirst. “Just water.”

  Graham nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Connor reached the table at the same time as a skinny guy with dreadlocks. The other kid looked at Connor, eyes tracking his height and build, and shrugged, ceding the table. Connor was glad. He needed a minute to settle. There were no chairs or stools at the belly-high tables, so Connor wedged himself between the table and the wall, giving himself a full view of the room.

  His mind reeled. He’d fought it for weeks, denied the very possibility of it. But here and now, in the chaos of color and lights, he had to acknowledge it. He was totally into Graham. Attracted in a way that should have been reserved for his girlfriend.

  But, a very small voice in his mind whispered, is it just Graham, or is it deeper than that? And the question had a very simple answer—an answer that came with consequences he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

  The answer was both.

  “He really shouldn’t have left you by your lonesome.” Liam sidled up to him and leaned against the back wall next to Connor. “Some young stud might try to steal you away.”

  Connor glanced at Liam. “I think I’m safe enough.” He stared at a mammoth of a guy with midnight-dark skin strutting by in a flapper-style beaded dress. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, and he’d added to that with four-inch heels.

  “First time here?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Oh, honey, yes. There’s something so innocent in your wide-eyed wonder. If you’re not careful, someone’s going to try to corrupt you.”

  The melodramatic warning in that lyrical voice helped Connor relax for the first time since he’d heard the word “Boystown.” Sure, he was a little weirded out by the outfit—seriously, silver shorts?—but there was something about this Liam guy Connor liked. He couldn’t imagine being so comfortable in his own skin that he’d walk around dressed like that.

  “Maybe I’ll have to find someone to show me the ropes and protect me from the corrupters. I wonder where I could find someone like that?” Okay, he was flirting. Did he really want to flirt with some pretty boy in silver shorts and a mesh shirt?

  Yes. Yes, he did. The marvel of that made him grin. This was a once in a lifetime night, and he was determined to make the most of it.

  “I know the perfect guy.” Liam tugged at his arm. “Me. The first thing you have to do is dance. It is harder to latch onto a moving target. That’s rule number one.”

  “Dance?” Connor made sure to sound unconvinced.

  “Dance,” Liam repeated.

  Connor looked toward the bar where Graham had finally made his way to the front of the crowd. Graham leaned forward to speak to the bartender. It looked like he was going to be a while yet.

  “C’mon,” Liam demanded. “He’ll find you. We won’t be far.”

  Connor looked down at the pretty green-eyed boy who stood with one hand on a cocked hip, before scanning the room full of strangers. He didn’t know anyone here. No one knew him. He could do whatever he wanted tonight, let loose and live with no worries about how it would fit into his goals or what people would think. His smile grew almost painfully wide. “Let’s dance, then,” he said, and let himself be dragged to the dance floor.

  Chapter 19

  GRAHAM HANDED his cash to the bartender, including a big tip. Hopefully the bartender would be a little quicker with service next time. It was a trick his father often used, and since it seemed to work for him, Graham had no objections to trying it too. He stepped back and the empty space he left filled immediately. He made his way carefully through the thickest layer of the crowd and looked toward the corner where Connor should have been waiting. But Connor wasn’t there.

  “Lose your date?”

  Graham closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth, “Friend. Not a date. What are you doing here?” He glared at Peter before resuming his search for Connor.

  “I asked your dad where you were going. I was surprised you told him.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  “Actually, I was surprised you told him about coming here. I figured you guys were going to a movie or a show. But when he said you were going to a club called Stripes, well, I had to see for myself. I wouldn’t have pegged this as your friend’s kind of scene.”

  “I don’t lie to my dad. And as for Connor, I wanted to come and he’s a friend, so he agreed to go with, that’s all.”

  “Friend. Right.” The sarcasm in the tone cut through the pounding bass and roar of shouted conversations.

  Graham stopped his scan for Connor and wheeled around to face his ex. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re deluding yourself. I saw you two together.”

  “Maybe it’s not me who’s deluding himself,” Graham said starkly. “He’s not gay. So, friends.”

  “Oh, he’s as queer as the rest of us.”

  “What makes you say that? No, you know what, never mind. I’m not having this conversation with you. It’s too weird.”

  “I don’t know why you find it so weird. We were friends once. As to how I know, well, I’ve got eyes. If he doesn’t play for our team, then he’s a damn good faker.” Peter pointed to the crowd of dancers. Graham followed Peter’s finger and finally located Connor.

  This version of Connor was relaxed and open, one that Graham had never seen before. Connor was dancing, and dancing well, with the kid from the line outside. A broad smile split across Connor’s face as his body rocked with the rhythm of the music. From above, a rotating disco ball shot hundreds of beams of reflected light skipping across Connor’s bare arms and white tank. Sweat glinted off his skin and darkened his curls. He was beautiful—there was no other word for it. Graham’s stomach twisted in longing.

  “You’ve got it bad.” Peter shook his head. “Well, if you give up on your closet case, give me a call. You know how to reach me.” Peter turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Graham sighed and snaked through the writhing horde of dancers. When he reached Connor, Liam was standing on his toes and saying somethi
ng into Connor’s ear. Connor threw back his head and laughed. The pleasure at seeing Connor enjoy himself warred with the resentment that someone else was responsible for Connor’s happiness.

  Connor’s eyes lit up when he caught sight of Graham. Of course, it was probably only the way the lights shone around him. The smile on Connor’s face, however, seemed to grow wider as Graham approached. “Hey,” he shouted over the music.

  “Hey, back.” Graham handed Connor a bottle of water and grinned at the way Connor rolled his eyes in relief and mouthed “thank you.” He twisted the cap and swallowed half the contents of the bottle in one long gulp. His mouth dry, Graham followed suit.

  The DJ switched to the next song, a techno dance mix that had Graham’s head nodding and foot tapping to the rhythm. Liam squealed and snatched Connor’s hand, spun toward him until Connor’s arm was completely wrapped around him, and whirled back out, somehow avoiding the other dancers. The farthest reach of the move had him nearly face-to-face with Graham. Liam took that second to tell Graham, “I rescued him.”

  Liam repeated the spin-in and spin-out. “Had to protect him from the corrupters.”

  Graham waited for the next spin to bring Liam near. “Corrupters?”

  After one more spin-in and spin-out, Liam stopped, wavering on his feet. “Whoa. Dizzy.” He blinked at Graham and smiled. “Yeah, there were people eyeing him like a starving man eyes a steak. I swear there was drool and everything. And he was standing there, looking so sweet. If we hadn’t moved, there would’ve been a mob.”

  Connor laughed. “Yeah, right. Nobody was watching me.”

  Graham wasn’t so sure. Even now he could see a number of guys—and girls—watching him dance.

  Liam winked. “He doesn’t see it at all, does he?”

  “You’re so full of it. I thought we were here to dance.” Connor did a ridiculous disco-inspired move that had Graham choking on a laugh.

  “You’re right.” Graham took a sip of water to clear his throat. He’d make sure Connor enjoyed himself, all the while keeping a close eye on Connor’s admirers. Stripes on underage night was safer than raves or basement parties, especially since there was no alcohol permitted, but it was better to be cautious.