Chapter 1

Music pulsed through my small apartment like

a rapid heartbeat. Shadows moved to the hip-hop rhythm, damp bodies

dancing in the smoky darkness. Powerful bass drowned out voices and

shuddered windows. From the closed bathroom door came the bitter

scent of marijuana.

I moved through the crowd with the hood of my

jacket pulled up to cover my straight, blonde hair and pale face.

My hands were balled into fists and shoved deep into the jacket

pockets. I kept my gaze on the floor and my shoulders hunched, well

aware of the color of my skin, such a contrast at a party like

this. Twice stray elbows caught me in the ribs but both times I

ignored the jabs. When a high-pitched laugh pierced the music, I

ducked down further into my jacket and wished I could blend in.

Outside, deep bass beats pounded like

approaching thunder. I moved through the crowd, jostling my way

towards the front door and the promise of cool night beyond. As I

reached the foyer, I caught a glimpse of someone I knew,

finally. My roommate Tyrone flashed me a grin, bright

against his honey-colored skin, and hollered out over the music and

the noise. “Sounds like De’Andre’s here.”

Two seconds later the front door opened and

De’Andre stood there like a tangible part of the darkness outside

broken off from the surrounding night and brought to life. His eyes

shone like stars set in the smooth black stone of his face. His

smile was perfect, full lips pulled back to reveal straight, white

teeth. Tight lines of dark hair framed his jaw and mouth and chin,

fading up the side of his cheeks to his shaved head. With movements

that matched the music, he came through the doorway into our small

apartment and the party around him dulled in his presence.

He was Tyrone’s friend, not mine. Jealousy

stabbed through me at the easy way they touched, a hand here,

fingers curving there, so intimate, so fast. Then Tyrone nodded at

me and I caught my breath when those star-bright eyes turned my

way. “Who the hell’s this?” De’Andre asked.

My skin flushed hot at his words and I wanted

to rip it off, throw it aside. Instead I glared at him, a challenge

in my eyes that he met with a stern gaze. The stars dimmed,

threatened to disappear. “I’m Nick,” I said.

“Nick’s cool,” Tyrone shouted at us. When

De’Andre didn’t move, Tyrone touched his arm as if to hold him

back. “C’mon man. He brought the blunts tonight. He’s aight.”

De’Andre scoffed. “He even old enough to be

here? Looks like jailbait to me.”

Through clenched teeth, I growled, “I’m

nineteen.”

He lunged at me, probably to see if I’d

flinch or shrink back, but I held my ground. When I didn’t move, he

laughed and caught me by the scruff of my neck, pulling me into a

one-arm embrace. I turned to keep from poking his hip with the

slight erection hidden in my baggy jeans, but he must’ve felt it

anyway because he hugged me closer and the hand on my neck

tightened. Nosing aside my hood, he shouted into my ear, “You like

dark meat, wigga?”

His hot breath curled across my flesh like

flames, igniting my blood. His heady scent, a mix of thick cologne

and sweat, filled my world. He had to have a good three years on

me, probably half a foot in height and fifty pounds strapped to his

lithe body in muscles I didn’t have. I had no doubt he wanted to

start something but I couldn’t tell if he wanted to fight me or

fuck me. Either way, he’d get his way.

Because Tyrone was watching, I pushed

De’Andre away and shrugged off his hand. “Get off me,” I barked,

even though my whole body ached for his touch. His laughter washed

over me, a deep, sensual sound that I felt in my balls. I wanted to

tear into him and couldn’t—wanted to rage against him, beat him,

hit him, grasp him, clench him in my fists. I could imagine my

hands, so white against his dark skin. I could see myself impaled

upon him, wrapped in his arms and held down as he plowed into me

with a timeless rhythm, like night into day. It was the music, I

told myself, the smoke and the haze and the close bodies pressing

all around that had me so riled.

Long after he disappeared into the crowd, I

still felt his hand on the back of my neck, his arm around my

shoulders and his body tight against mine. Who was I kidding? It

was him.

* * * *

I chased after them, earning harsh words from

couples I pushed apart and threats I chose to ignore. The flow of

the party fought against me but I shoved through the surging tide,

through the music and the smoke. I made it down the hall into the

main room, then into the kitchen, out onto the deck, but didn’t see

De’Andre anywhere. I bullied my way back into the apartment, the

main room, the hall, and almost got as far as the foyer when the

bathroom door opened to block my path. Through the thick haze

inside I saw my roommate sitting on the closed toilet seat. I

ducked under the arm of whoever was exiting the bathroom and

followed the stench of pot inside. “Tyrone.”

De’Andre’s deep voice answered. “There’s our

token white boy,” he said, and I spun around to find him stretched

out along the edge of the bathtub, leaning back against the wall

with his long legs crossed as he toked on one of my buds. Raising

the joint, he told me, “This chronic is phat. Where’d you get

it?”

Now that I had found him, I didn’t want to

admit I’d been looking in the first place. Shoving my fists into my

pockets, I shrugged and muttered, “I got my sources.” I glared at

my reflection in the mirror and wished Tyrone would go away.