Page 3 of A Very Gay Halloween (Curious #19)

I open my mouth to argue, but the voices are right outside now. I can hear footsteps, nervous giggles, someone saying "I think we're supposed to go this way" in a voice that suggests they're as lost as I was.

"Shut up. They're coming," Cooper breathes, his words ghosting across my face.

I close my mouth and try to focus on anything other than the fact that Cooper's thigh is wedged between my legs. The candlelight filtering through the crack in the fake panel casts moving shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip.

This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

The group moves past our hiding spot, their voices fading as they continue deeper into the maze.

"We don't have all day," someone from the group says, their voice already distant.

Cooper's eyes find mine in the dim light. There's something different in his expression now, something that makes my stomach flip and my heart hammer against my ribs for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.

The group's voices fade to nothing, but Cooper doesn't step back. If anything, he shifts closer, using his body weight to keep me pinned against the wall. The plastic blade of his scythe comes up, pressing against my throat—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make my breath catch.

"You want to tell me what your fucking problem is?” he snarls. “Because I'm done with this shit."

I try to focus on the fact that it's just a costume prop, just molded plastic painted to look like metal. But the way he's holding it, the way his eyes are locked on mine, makes it feel a lot more real.

"It's plastic, you know."

He presses the blade harder against my skin, and I swear I can feel my pulse jumping against it. "Answer me."

"I don't have a—"

"Bullshit. You've been acting like I killed your dog for two fucking years."

The confined space makes everything feel amplified. His voice, his breathing, the heat coming off his body. I can see every detail of his face in the flickering light. The way his pupils are dilated. The slight flush across his cheekbones.

The way his lips are parted like he's breathing harder than he should be.

My head feels fuzzy, like I'm not getting enough oxygen. Or maybe I'm getting too much of something else. Something that smells like Cooper's cologne and tastes like danger.

"I can't... just back the fuck off."

"Not until you tell me why you hate my guts."

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me."

He shifts his position, and his thigh presses more firmly between my legs. It's an innocent movement, probably just him trying to get more leverage in the cramped space, but my body doesn't give a shit about innocent.

Heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach and spreading outward like wildfire. My cock starts to swell, pressing against the front of my jeans, and there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that Cooper doesn't feel it.

I watch his eyes widen slightly, then narrow as understanding crosses his face.

"Oh." His voice drops to barely audible. "Oh, that's what this is."

"That's not— It's not—"

"Isn't it?" He deliberately presses his thigh harder against me, and I can't stop the soft sound that escapes my throat. "All this time... all the bullshit, all the attitude..."

"Don't."

"You've been trying so hard to convince yourself you don't want this."

"Shut up."

But he's not wrong. And we both know it. My cock is hard now, straining against his thigh, and there's no way to hide it, no way to pretend it's not happening.

Cooper's free hand comes up to grip my hip, his fingers digging into my skin through the fabric of my costume. His chest is pressed against mine, and I can feel his heart beating just as fast as mine is.

"You want me," he says, and it's not a question.

"You're out of your fucking mind."

"Am I? Because your dick is telling a different story."

Heat burns across my face.

The plastic scythe blade is still pressed against my throat, and Cooper's eyes are dark in the candlelight, intense in a way that makes me want to look away and never stop looking at the same time.

"I was wondering," he continues, his voice low and rough, "how long you were going to keep this up. The whole tough guy act. The pretending you can't stand to be in the same room as me."

"I can't," I manage to say, even though my body is betraying every word.

"Because you might do something stupid? Like admit you want to fuck me?"

The words slap me across the face. Not because they're wrong, but because they're so fucking right that I can't breathe around them.

His thigh shifts again, rubbing against my hard cock, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from moaning.

This is insane. This is beyond insane. We're crammed into a maintenance closet in the middle of a haunted house, surrounded by people who could find us at any second, and I'm harder than I've ever been in my life.

I close my eyes, trying to block out his words, his voice, the way his body feels pressed against mine. But it's no use. Everything he's saying is true, and my body is responding like it's been waiting two years for this conversation.

The sound of distant cheers and applause filters through the walls—the finale must be over. Which means people will be moving around soon, looking for exits, maybe even coming this way.

Cooper seems to register the same thing, because he steps back just enough to look me in the eye.

"We're finishing this conversation." The scythe moves away from my throat, but his hand stays on my hip, keeping me pinned.

"There's nothing to—"

"Thirty minutes," he says. "At the party. And August?" He leans in close one more time, his lips brushing against my ear. "Don't even think about running away from me again."

Then he's gone, pushing through the fake panel and leaving me alone in the alcove with my racing heart and my hard cock and the sudden, terrifying realization that everything is about to change.