Page 4 of A Very Gay Halloween (Curious #19)

THE INDUSTRIAL WAREHOUSE has transformed into something that looks like Halloween threw up all over a rave.

Jack-o'-lanterns line what used to be our makeshift horror corridors, their flickering candles casting dancing shadows that climb the concrete walls like living things.

Orange and black streamers hang from the metal rafters, twisted and drooping like party decorations designed by someone having a very bad trip.

Fake spider webs stretch between the beams overhead, and I keep catching glimpses of plastic spiders dangling at eye level, their beady little eyes reflecting the candlelight in ways that make my skin crawl.

The ambient sound system has switched from horror movie soundtrack to something with deep bass and eerie synthesizers—music that sounds like it belongs in a vampire club.

I've ditched the bloody butcher apron and washed the fake gore off my face, and now I feel exposed. Like I've lost some kind of armor. My regular clothes—just jeans and a black t-shirt—feel too normal, too much like the real me instead of the character I was hiding behind.

My hands won't stop fidgeting with my water bottle. Twist the cap. Untwist it. Twist it again. The plastic makes little clicking sounds that get swallowed up by the bass line pounding from the speakers.

People are everywhere—dozens of actors from both fraternities, plus their friends, plus random plus-ones who showed up for the party part of the evening. Everyone's in high spirits, congratulating each other on pulling off what was apparently a successful night of scaring the shit out of people.

I catch fragments of conversations floating past me:

"Did you see how that one girl screamed when you jumped out?"

"The blood effects looked so real I thought someone actually got hurt."

"Justin absolutely nailed the psycho killer bit. I think that one guy actually pissed himself."

Everyone's acting like this was the social event of the semester. Meanwhile, I'm standing here trying not to think about how Cooper's thigh felt pressed between my legs.

Fuck.

I take a long pull from my water bottle and scan the room, telling myself I'm not looking for anyone in particular. Just getting a feel for the crowd, seeing who's here, making sure I know where the exits are in case I need to make a strategic retreat.

But my eyes find him anyway.

Cooper's standing across the room talking to Jason, who's still on crutches but looking a lot more mobile than he did a few days ago.

Cooper's changed out of his grim reaper costume and into a dark gray henley that fits him way too well and jeans that should be illegal.

His hair is still messed up from the hood, sticking up in places that make him look like he just rolled out of someone's bed.

He looks relaxed. Normal. Like he didn't just spend the last thirty minutes completely fucking with my head.

But then his eyes meet mine across the crowded space, and there's nothing normal about the way he's looking at me. His expression is predatory, like he's a wolf who's spotted something he wants to chase through the woods.

He says something to Jason—I can't hear what over the music and conversations—then deliberately catches my eye and jerks his head toward a dimly lit corner where a few small tables sit empty. The gesture is casual enough that anyone watching would think he's just suggesting we grab a seat.

But I know better. This isn't a request.

I could run.

That's what every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to do. Walk right out the front door, get on my bike, and pretend this whole night never happened. Go back to hating him from a safe distance where my dick doesn't have opinions about our conversations.

But there's another part of me—the part that wants to know what happens next.

So I push off from the wall I've been leaning against and start weaving through the crowd. Someone claps me on the shoulder as I pass—Mike, I think, though I barely register his face.

"Great job tonight, man," he shouts over the music.

I nod and keep walking, my focus entirely on Cooper, who's already settled at one of the small round tables in the corner.

The table is lit by a single carved pumpkin with a candle inside, the warm, flickering light playing across his features and making his cheekbones look sharper than they have any right to be.

I hate how good he looks in candlelight. It's not fair that someone who's spent two years being a complete pain in my ass should look like he belongs on the cover of some gothic romance novel.

The chair across from him is waiting, and I drop into it with way too much force. The table is small enough that our knees almost touch underneath, and I scoot my chair back to put some distance between us.

Cooper notices. Of course he notices.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. The party continues around us—laughter, conversations, the clink of bottles against plastic cups—but our corner feels isolated, cut off from the rest of the world by shadows and candlelight and whatever the hell is happening between us.

"So," he says finally.

"So," I echo, because my brain apparently decided to take a vacation right when I need it most.

Cooper leans back in his chair, completely relaxed, like we're just two friends having a casual chat about the weather. "You gonna make me drag it out of you?"

I twist the cap on my water bottle again, the plastic clicking in a rhythm that probably makes me look nervous as hell. Which I am, but he doesn't need to know that.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"How about starting with the truth?"

The truth. Right. Like that's something I can just pull out of my back pocket and hand over without it exploding in both our faces.

I take another sip of water, buying time, trying to organize my thoughts into something that resembles coherence. My leg bounces under the table, nervous energy that has nowhere else to go.

"Look, if this is about what happened back there—" I start.

"What happened back there," he interrupts, and there's something in his tone that makes it sound less like a question and more like a challenge.

"It was just... adrenaline or whatever. Stress. Doesn't mean anything."

"Bullshit."

The word lands between us like a slap. Cooper leans forward, elbows on the table, closing the distance I tried so hard to create. I can smell his cologne again. It makes me dizzy.

"I want to know why you started hating me," he says, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "The real reason."

"I don't—"

"We were friends, August. Good friends. And then one day you just... what? Decided I was the enemy?"

The way he says my name makes my stomach do something acrobatic. I forgot how it sounds in his voice when he's not pissed at me—like he actually gives a shit about the answer he's going to get.

"It's complicated," I manage.

"Try me."

His eyes are locked on mine, and I realize with a jolt that this is the longest we've looked directly at each other in two years. Really looked, not just glared across a room or thrown dirty looks during some group project.

Before everything went to shit, we could sit like this for hours.

Just talking about anything—classes, frats, movies, stupid shit we saw on social media, plans for the weekend.

Cooper was funny when he wasn't being an uptight control freak.

Smart in ways that didn't make him sound like a textbook. Easy to be around.

When did I stop noticing that he has those little gold flecks in his eyes?

"I've been trying to figure you out for two years," he continues when I don't respond. "Did I do something? Say something?"

"No."

"Then what?"

I sigh. "Can we just... not do this?"

"No." His voice drops even lower, more intense. "We're doing this."

The music shifts to something with more electronic elements, all synthesized beats and haunting melodies that seem designed to soundtrack bad decisions. The carved pumpkin between us flickers, casting moving shadows across Cooper's face.

"You owe me at least that much," he says. "After all the shit you've put me through."

"I never asked you to—"

"To what? Care? Because I did care, August. We were supposed to be brothers."

The word hits me like a punch to the chest. Brothers . That's exactly what we were supposed to be, and exactly what I couldn't handle. The whole Greek system is built on that concept—brotherhood, loyalty, having each other's backs no matter what.

But you're not supposed to want to fuck your brother.

The thought slams into me with enough force to make me flinch, and Cooper catches it. His eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to read the expression that just flickered across my face.

My hands are shaking now, just barely, but enough that I have to set my water bottle down before I drop it.

He's not going to let this go. I can see it in his expression, in the set of his shoulders.

In the way he's leaning forward like he's prepared to sit here all night if that's what it takes.

And maybe I'm tired of carrying this alone. Maybe I'm tired of making everything so fucking hard when it could be simple.

"You really want to know?" I ask, looking down at my hands instead of meeting his eyes.

"Yeah. I do."

I can feel him watching me, waiting. The party continues around us, but it might as well be happening on another planet.

"I..." The words stick in my throat like they're coated in tar. "Fuck. This is so stupid."

"Just say it."

I force myself to look up and meet his eyes. The candlelight makes them look darker than usual, more intense.

"I liked you, alright?" The words come out in a rush, like ripping off a band-aid. "I liked you and I didn't... I couldn't handle it."

There's a pause. Cooper's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in the way he's holding himself. Like he's suddenly paying even more attention than he was before.

"Liked me how?" he asks.

Of course he's going to make me spell it out. Of course he's not going to let me hide behind vague language and hope he fills in the blanks.

"How do you think?"

"I want you to say it."

My face burns, but I force the words out anyway. "I was attracted to you. There. Happy?"

I expect him to laugh. Or look disgusted. Or at least look surprised. Instead, something that looks almost like satisfaction flickers across his face.

"So your solution was to become a complete dick to me?"

"I panicked, okay?" My voice comes out sharper now. "I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have talked to me."

I let out a harsh laugh. "Right. ' Hey Cooper, I know you have a girlfriend and you're straight, but I think I want to fuck you .' That would have gone great."

He leans back in his chair, and I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Like he's trying not to smile.

"You should have done the opposite," he says.

"What?"

"Instead of pushing me away. You should have done the opposite."

I blink at him, trying to process. "I don't... what does that mean?"

His eyes are locked on mine, and there's something playful in his expression now.

"You're a smart guy. Figure it out."

"Are you... are you fucking with me right now?"

"Am I?"

I can't tell if he's messing with my head or being serious. The darkness makes it hard to read him, and I feel like I'm missing some crucial piece of information that would make everything click into place.

"You want to know something?" He leans forward again, close enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. "I've spent a lot of nights wondering what would have happened if you hadn't run away."

My mouth goes dry. "Cooper..."

"A lot of nights thinking about you."

The words hang between us. My cock starts to respond to the implication in his voice, and I grip my water bottle tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying maybe you weren't as wrong as you thought you were."

The world tilts sideways, shifting, rearranging itself into patterns I never considered.

Just as I'm about to respond, someone nearby shouts over the music.

"Okay, people! Time to move your asses, yeah? Buses are here!"

No. No, no, no. We can't stop here. I need to know what he means. I need to understand what the hell is happening.

People start gathering their things and moving toward the exit, and I expect Cooper to get up and leave, to let the moment pass like it never happened.

Instead, he stands up and looks down at me.

"Give me a ride?"

"What?"

"To the haunted house. Give me a ride."

I stare up at him. "I... yeah. Okay."

His eyes hold mine for a long moment, and there's something in them that makes my stomach flip.

"We're not done talking."

Then he's walking toward the exit, leaving me sitting there trying to figure out if I'm about to make the best decision of my life or the worst.

Either way, I'm pretty sure I'm fucked.