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Casey heard music radiating out from the house as soon as he set foot on Laurel’s front walkway. He recognized the tune: it was some 80’s torch song about a lady who had a one-night stand with a stranger in a bar. Something his grandma would have sung her heart out to while washing dishes, a parakeet bobbing along on her shoulder. But it wasn’t a woman singing this time. Casey didn’t really know enough about music to know if it was a baritone or tenor or what, but the voice was beautiful, no other word for it, making his scalp prickle and a little shiver travel down his spine. Huh. He’d almost hoped that after all the build-up, Laurel wouldn’t be as good as everybody said. He wasn’t sure he could handle another reason to—not dislike him.

The song switched off after Casey had been pounding on the door for several minutes, and Laurel answered, his face flushed, sweaty hair pushed back from his forehead. His eyes were a little wobbly, and there was a smell of alcohol emanating from him.

“Are you just day drinking and doing karaoke by yourself?”

Laurel shrugged. “Sometimes it makes me feel better.”

“How embarrassing for you.”

“Yeah, well.” Laurel crossed his arms, the flush on his face deepening, and something twisted in Casey’s stomach. “Why are you here? Did I forget we had another meeting? Or is this just a random booty call?”

“No, I—” suddenly Casey was the flustered one. “Yes, we had a meeting. We still need to go to the Halloween store and figure out all the shit your mom wants for the party.”

“Fuck the Halloween store,” Laurel said languidly. “Why don’t you come in?”

Casey bit his lip. “It really isn’t a booty call. And who even uses that phrase anymore? You’re so—”

“Look, I’m in no shape to go to a Halloween store. Or any kind of store.” Laurel stepped back, holding the door open. “Keep me company. I ordered takeout.”

Casey eyed the TV in the background, neon lyrics still plastered across the screen. One night of love was all we knew , it read. A little too on-the-nose for his comfort. But maybe he could just sit down for a second. The scarecrows and plastic skeletons and other chintzy props that Denise had insisted upon weren’t going anywhere, anyway. “I’m not hungry,” he warned. “And I’m leaving if you make me listen to a one-man concert of cheesy love songs.”

“How dare you. Ann and Nancy Wilson are consummate badasses, and I will accept no slander of them or their music.”

“Okay,” Casey said, not knowing who he was talking about. His own musical tastes tended toward early 2000s R of course it was nice. Tastefully if unimaginatively decorated with coastal tchotchkes and clapboard signs that advertised the beach. No real hint of Laurel’s personality except for the karaoke setup. A set of bay windows overlooked the beach, the sand a muted ivory, the sea dark under an overcast sky. No one was out today, and the ocean had an eerie glassiness to it. Hurricane season. They’d been lucky not to get hit by anything so far, but he felt a little trickle of unease, looking at the leaden color of the clouds. “Don’t your neighbors mind the noise?”

“I don’t have a lot of neighbors this time of year,” Laurel said. “Most of these are vacation rentals. Besides,” he added, with a crooked grin, “I’ve been told I have the voice of an angel.”

“I mean, sure,” Casey said begrudgingly. There was a familiar green Krispy Kreme box on the table, next to a half-empty bottle of some brown liquor, and he tried to keep his eyes off of it. Laurel hadn’t said that the takeout was donuts, and now he felt prickly and off-balance, alone with not one but two things he found hard to resist. “It wasn’t bad. Sounded like a professional cover.”

Laurel sat down across from him, and Casey’s heart clenched a little at the genuine expression of happiness on his face. “Thank you. Do you want one?” he added, grabbing a donut. He took a large bite. “Or wait, you don’t eat sugar. Right?”

“It’s bad for my skin.”

“That’s a myth.” Laurel studied him, smiling slightly. There were crumbs of sugar glaze stuck to his lower lip. “It wouldn’t hurt you to indulge once in a while.”

Casey bristled. “It’s really none of your business.” His phone vibrated, and he took it out, hoping for a distraction from the heavy curiosity in Laurel’s gaze. Another raccoon picture from Jamie. This one was climbing a tree, a hot dog dangling from its mouth.

“My mom?” Laurel asked.

“No, it’s my friend, Jamie. He—“ Casey could feel his cheeks getting hot, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this was somehow more embarrassing than Laurel seeing him naked. “He feeds feral raccoons. There’s a colony of them near his house. Sometimes he sends me pictures.”

“Oh my God, can I see?” Laurel leaned forward delightedly.

Casey stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

“You know, I never really imagined you having friends,” Laurel said. He reached for another donut, then, seeming to think better of it, took a drink from the bottle on the table instead. “You seem so—impenetrable.”

Casey shrugged, not sure what he meant by that, and not sure it was a compliment. It didn’t matter what Laurel thought about him, anyway.

“But I’m not surprised you like raccoons.” Laurel grinned. “They’re scrappy and cute. And a little sinister. Seems fitting.”

Casey picked at a stray thread on the couch cushion. The furniture was a sea of beige and pale pink, and he guessed Laurel hadn’t chosen it, because he couldn’t see pink or red very well. He wondered what it was like to live a life without all of the colors. He wondered how Laurel got dressed in the morning, and what sunsets looked like to him, and, weirdly, he felt a little sad. “Why don’t you sing more?” he asked. “I know you sang in choir as a kid. Did you ever try out for anything? You would have been the right age for American Idol.”

“Yeah.” The smile dropped off Laurel’s face, replaced by a look of exhaustion. “My mom wanted me to.” He grabbed another donut. “I filled out all the paperwork. Told her I had mailed it in. But actually, I just threw it away.” He sighed, looking out the window. “She wanted me to do a lot of things.”

“I know.” Casey pulled another thread out of the sofa. There was some ugly seashell pattern embroidered on it, so really, he was doing Laurel a favor by tearing it up. He shouldn’t stay, though. He needed to make up an excuse to leave, because he didn’t care about Laurel’s fractured relationship with Denise. He didn’t care about anything except getting paid. Right?

Rain had started to fall outside, fat droplets hitting the deck. Casey gave in, breaking a corner off of a cruller from the donut box and popping it into his mouth.

“Honestly, I dodged a bullet,” Laurel said. “Amber, the girl from college I was supposed to propose to? She’s some super-conservative mommy blogger now. I guess I should have known. But at the time, I was just grateful that she wanted to save everything for marriage. It took a lot of the pressure off me.”

“I can see why you haven’t told Denise,” Casey said. “That you’re gay. Or, whatever. Shouldn’t assume.”

Laurel waved a hand in the air. “No, you’re fine. But you’re right. She’d make it all about her, in one way or another. Like she does with everything.” He shook his head. “Honestly, she probably already knows, or at least suspects something. I only had the one serious girlfriend, which she holds over my head. As you’ve seen. Do you know, she was taking Amber ring shopping without me? I think she cared more about an engagement than either of us did. And I was just supposed to follow along, I guess. Check the boxes for her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I ever did come out, it would be the same thing. She’d be the most performative ally ever, while still voting against my rights every November. I’d be some—some kind of novelty. To show off to people. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

Casey shrugged. “I guess scheming behind her back helps.”

Laurel didn’t laugh. “I just don’t want to deal. Is that wrong of me? Probably. Whenever I come back here, I feel like I’m not myself.”

“Why even come back to begin with?” He didn’t get it.

Laurel took another drink. “Because she asks me to, I guess. And because my friends are here.”

“What about your dad?” Casey heard himself ask.

“Oh, he’s great. Doesn’t speak a lot of English, but when I told him, he was really cool about it. He just said, ‘ A chacun son gout . Many tastes make beautiful the world.’ And then he poured me a big glass of brandy.”

The sugary taste of the cruller seemed to have curdled in Casey’s mouth. He cleared his throat. “That’s sweet.”

“It was. I’m lucky. I kind of got my heart stomped on by this older guy, in my mid-twenties. And my dad could tell something was wrong, so I ended up confiding in him. It was weird. Like a dam broke between us. He wasn’t really, like, active in my childhood. I didn’t actually visit him much until I was an adult. I guess I had myself convinced that he didn’t like me. But we’ve been getting closer.” He leaned back, staring out the window. After a moment, he let out a little laugh. “You know what’s funny? I’ve never told anyone else that story. Not even Melody.”

Laurel didn’t add anything else, and the room descended into silence. Outside, it was raining in earnest, and the living room felt hushed and intimate, a cocoon. Casey’s heart was pounding. He imagined asking about Belgium. He didn’t know anything about it, pictured cobbled streets and old buildings and maybe beer? Was beer a big thing in Belgium? Pretzels? Windmills? No, wrong country. He had never been outside of the US, didn’t have a passport.

What if we just got out of here? The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he would never say them. They had agreed that this wouldn’t turn into anything. And Casey didn’t have anything to offer someone like Laurel, not really. He wasn’t sure he had anything to offer anyone, period. He’d been solitary for so long that he would have no idea how to be part of a pair.

“So, do you have parents?” Laurel asked, after a while. “I mean, you must.”

Casey sighed. The whole saga really wasn’t worth telling. Just one more ugly, banal story of childhood trauma, worse than some and better than others. The years of moving around. The cons and get-rich-quick schemes. Being dropped off at his grandma’s whenever his dad was in trouble. The slow realization that his only parent wasn’t a very good person, or in his right mind.

“My mom left when I was a baby.” He’d seen one picture of her, so bleached out by sun and the years that her face was barely distinguishable. A nervous smile and a big halo of over-treated blonde hair, like every other white woman in the early ‘90s. “I was raised by my dad, but I’m not close with him. I was at one point. But he got really religious after he stopped using.” He didn’t add that he had only gotten clean for good after his third stint in prison. Laurel didn’t need to know that.

“That sucks.” Laurel chewed his lip. Casey couldn’t read the look in his eyes—affection, or pity, or fascination—whatever it was, it made him uncomfortable. He turned back to the box of donuts, slowly dismantling one into a pile of crumbs.

“Yeah, well. I don’t miss him. For all his talk about virtue, he put my grandma in the cheapest home he could find. It flooded during Hurricane Michael, and they couldn’t evacuate fast enough. She got hypothermia.” Hypothermia in filthy, bathtub-warm water. It was insulting. Grandma Terri hadn’t deserved that. Casey realized that his hand was trembling, and he clenched it into a fist.

“Jesus. The grandma with the birds? Was she—”

“Okay?” Casey shook his head. He was surprised Laurel had remembered the birds. Who knew what had happened to them. His dad had probably dumped them at a pet store, or just let them out of their cages to fend for themselves. His throat felt tight.

“Casey—”

“So what’s happening with the Halloween ball?” he asked, more harshly than he’d meant to. “I can tell you don’t actually care that much about Denise finally getting accepted into society, so why go through with it? Why promise me all this money? Because I’m fine with just dropping the whole thing at this point. In fact, I’d be happy to. It’s what she deserves.”

“You want to drop the whole thing?” Laurel said slowly.

Casey shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Why not? It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“And what happens then, you just leave town?”

Casey shrugged again. He would go somewhere where the humidity didn’t make his head feel like it was going to explode. Somewhere with snow and mountains. Colorado, or Washington State.

He imagined driving across the country, leaving Laurel here, alone, in this characterless room, and a pit opened up in his stomach.

“You’re right,” Laurel said, and Casey felt even worse. “It was a stupid idea. And it—it wasn’t for my mom. My friend Melody, she hasn’t been doing great for a while now.”

“Right.” Casey remembered Miss Mina in the kitchen, saying, Howie Bonard sucked all the life out of that girl. “She has history with Howie Bonard, doesn’t she? Was that why you got in a fight with him?”

Laurel scratched his nose, turning red. “It wasn’t a fight, not really. But yeah.”

“What did he do?” Casey asked, but really, he could guess. The story was always the same. Men like Howie Bonard always wanted to be with beautiful women, but they didn’t treat them well, or even seem to like them very much.

“According to everyone around here? Nothing.” Laurel set out a long, exhausted sigh. “You heard my mom. ‘Girls like that grow up fast.’ The whole town thinks she was asking for it. But in reality, he groomed her, got her into drugs and shit. Controlled her and messed with her head for years. She got away for a little bit in college, but then she dropped out and went right back to him.”

Casey said nothing, keeping his face neutral. He knew about addicts, after all.

“A while ago, she finally broke up with him for good. Tried to sue for emotional damages. But it went nowhere, and she’s completely ostracized because of him and his family. But she’s going to get a restraining order, so he won’t be able to torment her anymore. And I thought—I don’t know. I thought that maybe if she showed up at the party, it would prove everyone wrong, you know? Show that he’s the bad guy, and that she deserves to be here.”

“Right.” Casey felt a little pang of—something. Sympathy, maybe, or embarrassment that Laurel could somehow manage to be so optimistic. Restraining orders weren’t magic, and parties didn’t get people clean. He’d seen the bruises on Melody’s legs at the dog wedding, the way she had stumbled across the lawn. The glassy look in her eyes at the Fourth of July Jamboree. “You were going to drop one hundred and fifty thousand dollars just so that your friend could, what, have a moment?”

Laurel gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m not known for making good decisions.”

“No shit. Is she even—” Casey chewed his lip, trying to be delicate. “Does she know that you’re planning this? And would she even be up for it?”

“She does, but you’re right, it’s a stupid idea.” Laurel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess it wasn’t just about her. I panicked a little when you said you’d forgotten me. Wanted any excuse to make you stick around.”

Casey heard himself make a little noise. He wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a sigh. His palms were sweaty, and he went to wipe them on his shirtfront before realizing one was still covered in donut crumbs. “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. And you don’t have to stay, either. I’ll understand.”

Something was bubbling under Casey’s skin. He couldn’t identify it, wasn’t sure if he felt guilty or nervous or pleased. His heart still hadn’t slowed down. “Why did you approach me that night in Vegas? What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel said softly. “You stood out. It seemed like maybe you had something I needed. What were you thinking?”

Casey studied him, his warm brown eyes, his open, honest face. The spattering of freckles across his cheeks. Any other night, Casey wouldn’t have been there. He didn’t gamble, or drink much. But he’d been on his way out of California with a lot of money, and he had wanted to see what a real casino was like. He’d wanted to do something reckless and extravagant.

And he had, even though he hadn’t ended up betting a single chip. That night had only been about Laurel, the white-hot connection between their bodies and the sounds he’d made and the lost, helpless look of pleasure on his face.

Casey cleared his throat. “That I wanted you. And maybe that I hated you a little.”

“Do you still hate me?” Laurel’s stricken, needy expression was almost too much to bear, but Casey didn’t look away.

“No,” he admitted.

“Do you still want me?”

Casey felt his heart thud in his chest, the soles of his feet tingling. His gaze dropped, intentionally, to Laurel’s lips. “I think I’ve made it pretty obvious what I want.”

There was a rustle of upholstery as Laurel leaned forward, and then he had shoved the coffee table out of the way and was on his knees in front of the couch, sucking Casey’s fingers deep into his mouth, cleaning the sugar off them one-by-one, the scrape of his teeth and the hot insistence of his tongue eclipsing everything else in the room. Casey’s vision went fuzzy at the edges and his skin felt hot and too tight, his thighs tensing up, his other hand coming to rest on the flushed nape of Laurel’s neck as Laurel kissed his palm, his knuckles, the throbbing pulse point in his wrist, lush, lingering kisses that made his nerves sing with pleasure. Casey traced the line of Laurel’s part, the curve of his ear. He could hear rain peppering the window, the rush of the surf outside, or maybe it was the rush of the blood in his head.

“I have condoms this time,” Laurel murmured against Casey’s skin, making the hairs on his arm stand up.

“Aren’t you a good little boy scout.” Somehow Casey kept his voice level. He cupped Laurel’s face, raising his chin so that he could look down at him. Laurel’s cheeks were strawberry-red, his lips plush and wet. Casey traced a thumb over the scattered constellations of his freckles, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. “So prepared.”

“But not too presumptuous, I hope.”

“Just presumptuous enough.” He brushed a strand of hair off Laurel’s forehead. God, it was impossible not to be fond of him, the way his face betrayed his feelings, his big stupid words and his big stupid heart and the way he was looking at Casey right now as if he could unlock the world. “Come here.”

Laurel settled over him, Casey falling back against the couch cushions. Their lips came together lazily, the taste of cinnamon sugar washing over Casey’s palate as Laurel’s tongue stroked his, followed by the bite of whatever he’d been drinking, a spark of fire against the sweetness. It felt good to touch him, to explore all the parts of Laurel that he had missed, to take his time rediscovering the spots that made him tremble. The way he moaned when Casey sucked on his lower lip and the way he gasped helpless curses into Casey’s mouth as Casey’s fingers found one of his nipples, teasing and pinching through the thin fabric of his shirt. The way he smelled, salt and earthy sweetness, the solid feel of his hip in Casey’s hand, his hip, which was—

Buzzing, his hip was buzzing. Casey fumbled in Laurel’s pocket, pulling out his phone. The screen was still shattered, he noticed, with a pleased little thrill. The name was barely readable, but it seemed like only one person ever called Laurel at the worst possible times.

“Jesus, does your friend ever not cock block you?”

“Fuck, is it Melody?” Laurel groaned into the couch cushions. “I swear to God, if it’s fucking book club again—“

Casey let the phone fall out of his hand and onto the floor, kissing his way down Laurel’s throat, sucking at the petal-soft skin where his neck met his collar. “Book club. Sounds important.” His other hand was on Laurel’s belt, loosening the buckle, Laurel’s cock already hard and promising behind his fly, and Casey’s tongue was heavy with the need to taste him.

“I should answer,” Laurel said weakly.

“You should, you really should.” His fingers were scraping through the coarse hair on Laurel’s lower belly now, Laurel’s pulse pounding against his lips. The phone stopped, then started again, a panicky static drone coming up from the carpet.

Casey felt Laurel sigh. “I actually should, for real.”

“Can’t she wait?”

“I—“ Laurel pulled back, blushing invitingly. His pupils were huge, his expression a little bleary. “I’ll worry. If I don’t answer. And I don’t want to be worried. I want to be—all yours. I want to give you my undivided attention.”

Casey cast a pointed look at Laurel’s groin. He tugged slightly at one of his belt loops. He could use the belt to tie Laurel’s hands up. Take his time re-learning every inch of him. It had driven him wild before, and Casey wanted that again. “Undivided, huh?” He found himself smiling, his fingertips tingling, his body feeling warm and languid as if he were back in the hot tub in Vegas.

“Promise.” Laurel kissed his cheek. “I’ll just be a second.”

But the moment he looked at the screen, Casey knew something was wrong. The hopeful expression on Laurel’s face wilted and confusion swam across his features, then concern. “Shit. I—I missed three calls from her hours ago. I never miss a call.” He answered the phone, fingers trembling. “Melody?” Laurel asked. “Slow down, sweetie. Who’s—what? Well tell him to—no, no, don’t go anywhere with him. Stay put, I’ll be there in a second.” He stood, fumbling around in his pocket. “Fuck, where are my keys?”

Casey swallowed, an icy feeling in the back of his throat. Undivided attention, my ass . He was nothing to Laurel but a hookup; of course his friends were more important. It didn’t hurt, because it had been painfully obvious all along. “What’s going on?”

“Melody’s downtown.” Laurel grabbed a jacket off the hanger by the door, his movements tight and jerky. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it sounds like Howie Bonard is there. I need to go get her. She can’t drive herself. Shit. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t check my phone earlier. I can’t believe I just left her hanging. This is—this is a mess, I’m a mess. I really wanted—“

Casey didn’t want to hear what he had wanted. It would make it worse. “You’ve been drinking. Can’t she get an Uber, or something?”

Laurel shook his head. “No, she needs me. I guess I can get an Uber, but it’ll take forever.”

Rain was hammering the window now, the sky outside steel-gray, and the light had an ominous quality to it, like someone had put a shroud over the sun. Casey thought of the winding country roads between here and downtown Bonard, the slick pavement and the growing gloom of the day. He didn’t want to get caught up in this. He needed to be alone. Needed some space between him and Laurel, a chance to think.

“We’ll have to take my car,” he heard himself say.