“No, kid. I’m sorry.” He let out a breath and attempted a smile. “Cheese, beef, and salsa is exactly what I need.”
Cody set down the food, paused like he was going to say something else, then turned and walked away.
Vahin let out another breath. Now he’d word-vomited all over the table, a sliver of guilt bit at him. He felt better, actually, but he hadn’t meant to go off like that. He glanced at Marlon. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spout off.”
Marlon studied him for a moment, his expression more open than it had been all evening. “You had to change your name?”
For fuck’s sake. He hadn’t wanted to get into all of that so soon. He sighed and forced a calm he didn’t feel into his tone. “Yeah. After I came out… things didn’t go so well. Even after I moved. My family kept…. Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant. I changed my name from Ifran to Vahin. It’s from the Hindu side of my mother’s family. Something they’d rather not think about.”
“Shit.”
Shit was right. Too much of an overshare, and he was bordering on being an asshole, whether Marlon was in the closet or not.
“No, I’m sorry,” Marlon continued. “I had no idea. I guess it’s easy to think my own situation is the hardest.”
Marlon’s expression was so genuine Vahin’s guilt increased. “Well, I did the same to you, didn’t I? I have no idea what it’s like to be a cop. Black, gay, or otherwise.” It looked like Marlon was about to apologize again, so Vahin cut him off. “Let’s just have nachos, okay? We need food. We’re good, right?”
Marlon’s mouth worked before he finally responded. “Yeah. We’re good.” He picked up one of the larger chips, scooped up a heap of toppings, and popped it in his mouth. His eyes widened, and he let out a moan.
Vahin smiled and relaxed a bit. “Told ya. They’re amazing, right?”
“Totally.”
The next several minutes were consumed by chips, cheese, guacamole, jalapeños, and sour cream. With each bite, Vahin felt better. And it looked like Marlon was feeling the same.
After a bit, Marlon spoke again, motioning toward the bar. “So you’re a Muslim bartender? I thought Muslims didn’t drink?”
Vahin snorted. “They don’t have gay sex either.”
“Ah, right. Neither do Baptists, as my parents are quick to remind me.” Marlon grinned. “So you’re a Muslim who breaks all the rules. The Muslim bad boy, if you will.”
He knew Marlon’s attempt to make light of it all was actually an effort to be nice, to smooth things over, but the words stung. Even after all these years. “Well, no. According to my family, I’m no longer Muslim. And I’m no longer worthy to be spoken to. However”—and here was the conflict, the thing he hadn’t been able to rationalize or fully understand—“I still see myself as Muslim. It’s as much my past, my heritage, as being Indian. You know?”
Marlon nodded. “Yeah. I think I do. I don’t consider myself a Baptist anymore, and my family hasn’t cut me off or anything, but it’s still a part of who I am.”
A thought came to him, one that always showed up on dates and in a million other situations where people were involved. “Does it bother you?”
Marlon’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“That I’m Muslim?”
Marlon’s expression left no doubt that he was genuine when he spoke. “No. Of course not. There are a couple Muslim guys on the force, and…. No. That doesn’t bother me at all.”
The relief and gratitude Vahin felt irritated him. He shouldn’t have to feel grateful for being accepted. But still, he was.
At that moment, the lights on the stage brightened, and a loud, shrill voice from the other side of the restaurant cut through all other noise. “Well, hellloooooooo, ladies!”
Vahin instantly regretted his choice of tables. He no longer had the desire to punish or to test Marlon.
Too late now.
ManDonna swept through the dining room, her slinky gown dripping with ropes of crystal rhinestones and sequins, sending rainbows through the space as if she were a disco ball. She paused at a few tables, offering a wink here and a slap on the cheek there. Her unnaturally blue contact eyes widened as she spotted Vahin, then flicked across the table to Marlon. She looked back to Vahin and gave a wink with her glittering false eyelashes and continued on to the stage.
Vahin groaned inwardly. She’d read his intent perfectly, and there was nothing short of grabbing Marlon’s hand and sprinting toward the door that would change his fate at this point.
Taking her place on center stage, ManDonna raised both her hands in the air, popped her hip, and shook her fire-red wig, like she was in a shampoo commercial. She looked like a glamped-up version of Lucille Ball. “That’s right, boys, worship me!”
The restaurant cheered.
