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This was a bad idea.

But he was already here. He just wanted to see Rabi, and if Rabi wisely wanted nothing to do with him, then Matthew would leave. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Matthew was no stranger to these rallies. It was just weird to not be on the stage with his own father, and instead looking up at the man his father was trying to beat.

He knew from his father’s many rants that Hashmi brought his family with him to every event. No politician was complete without the supportive family smiling in the background during his speeches. Matthew had played that role himself more times than he could count, especially during the summer when he’d endlessly toured the state with his father’s campaign. He didn’t envy Rabi tonight, but hoped he’d be here.

With his face partially obscured by the zipped-up collar of his parka and the shadow of his baseball cap, Matthew casually joined the crowd. As he moved, it wasn’t lost on him that a Hashmi slipping through the crowd like this at a Swain rally wouldn’t be quite as inconspicuous as he was. A white guy who was obviously trying to hide his face? He must be cold. A Pakistani guy doing the same?

Ugh. Fuck this town.

There was still plenty of room at the front, so he edged his way up to the barrier, and waited for the rally to begin. Before long, Hashmi’s family members began to appear. They were easy to spot because they were dressed up, unlike the crew, who were neat but casual. Emir’s wife wore a bright purple and gold hijab, and her oldest daughter had a red, white, and blue one. Emir himself was in a suit as always, as were his sons.

And—there.

Near the back of the stage, huddled in a black leather jacket that he’d probably switch out for a suit coat before long, was Rabi. Hands stuffed in his pockets, hair mussed by the snapping wind, some blush in his olive-skinned cheeks thanks to the biting cold—he was just as stunning as he’d been the other night. He was no longer dressed like a Greek god, but he still stopped Matthew dead in his tracks.

Rabi took out his phone and started fiddling with it, oblivious to Matthew gazing up at him from below the stage.

Matthew could barely breathe. How in the world had he ever attracted the attention of a man that gorgeous, never mind from across a crowded room? And when Matthew and Jude had taken off, Rabi had called after him. He’d . . . wanted Matthew to stay. How? This man could not be further out of Matthew’s league, and yet . . .

Matthew’s heart went crazy. Coming here definitely hadn’t been a mistake. Now he just needed a way to get Rabi’s attention so he could find out if that connection—that inexplicable but undeniable connection—still existed.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

He took it out, expecting Jude or his family to be looking for him.

It’s Rabi from the other night.

Matthew tensed. No way. He opened Facebook and tapped the message. It was indeed from the profile Jude had shown him. No friend request, but that was probably smart, given their public personas.

Pulse thumping, Matthew wrote back, You found me! 🙂

Had to. Pause. You’re really Bob Swain’s son?

Yep. And you’re Emir Hashmi’s kid.

Yeah. Damn.

Neither of them typed anything for a long moment. Matthew’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Great. He’d been here long enough to see Rabi and know that inkling of desire really existed, and Rabi had made enough contact to imply that things hadn’t started and finished the other night. But Matthew was a Swain and Rabi was a Hashmi, and they might as well be Hatfields and McCoys.

Sighing, Matthew decided there was no point in staying for the rally. He’d just be torturing himself.

Before he could leave, though, another message came through:

I shouldn’t, but I want to see you.

Matthew’s head snapped up. Rabi’s back was to him now. He seemed to be studying his phone. Maybe waiting for a response.

Matthew replied, Want to see you too. Don’t care about our dads.

Rabi’s body language was impossible to read from here. He was probably playing it as cool as he could so no one would get curious, but there was some undeniable tightness in his shoulders. It was undoubtedly a lot easier for Matthew to say their dads and politics didn’t matter right now. Rabi was literally onstage with his father, getting ready to encourage people to vote for him.

And still, Rabi wrote: When/where?

Matthew chewed his lip and weighed his options. Finally, he decided to go for broke:

Turn around.

Rabi froze. Then, slowly, he turned around.

And his gaze landed right on Matthew.

Rabi’s lips parted. Matthew’s heart pounded. As they stared at each other—Rabi from up on the stage and Matthew from down in the crowd—they both began to smile, and the late-October chill could do nothing to counter the sudden warmth rushing over Matthew.

Fingers unsteady and head spinning, Matthew shifted his attention to his phone and sent Rabi another message: Can I see you after the rally?

Matthew looked up. Rabi had casually turned away again, but he was still visible in profile. When he checked his screen, his smile broadened, turning Matthew’s knees to liquid.

Rabi wrote back, Tell me where to meet you. I’ll be there.

 

 

About Rabi and Matthew

A queer retelling of Romeo & Juliet, except no one has to bury their gays.

A decades-old family rivalry is reaching a boiling point as the patriarchs vie for a seat in Congress. Democrat vs Republican, Muslim vs Christian, Hashmi vs Swain — the Midwestern town of Arbor Hills is one spark away from an explosion of violence. So when two men find themselves irresistibly drawn together at a party, only to discover they were born on opposite sides of a bloody battle line, Matthew Swain and Rabi Hashmi know they should leave well enough alone.

The pull between them is magnetic, though, and it’s too strong to ignore. Unable to resist, they meet again in secret. Generations of hatred can’t temper the passionate love growing between them, but two men falling for each other in the middle of a war zone can’t hold back the inevitable clash.

And when decades of political, religious, and personal strife finally come to a head, there will be blood.

Now available from Riptide Publishing. 

Amazon

L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut . . .

Connect with L.A.:

• Website: www.gallagherwitt.com
• Author Blog: gallagherwitt.blogspot.com
• Personal Blog: navywifeadventures.blogspot.
• Twitter: @GallagherWitt
• Facebook: facebook.com//L-A-Witt-MM-Fiction
• Goodreads: goodreads.com/GallagherWitt

To celebrate the release of Rabi and Matthew, one lucky person will win a $10 Riptide credit. Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on November 10, 2018. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following along, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!