Click click!
Something wet blasted Matthew from both sides. Two Super Soakers had been mounted to opposite walls, pointed so that their torrential streams intersected where Matthew was standing. The water loaded into their tanks shimmered. Caught in the crossfire, Matthew yelped and jumped back, but the glitter all over the floor sent him skidding across the room. He collided with his glitter-covered bed and fell onto it only to hear a dozen tinypops!as small balloons concealed beneath the sheets burst. Clouds of multicolored glitter erupted from his bedding, expelled by the addition of his body weight.
Another wire broke, and one last deluge of glitter unleashed from an unseen place on the ceiling, burying Matthew in a final layer of shimmering magnificence.
Grievously wounded by the attack, Matthew groaned and lay still.
Why had he thought it was safe to leave his door unlocked with his dad’s friends around?
“Holyshit,” Damien muttered, gobsmacked. “It worked.”
Without otherwise moving, Matthew lifted his hand and shot Damien the bird.
“Matthew? Are you okay?” his father asked hesitantly, more likely than not because asking that question to someone covered head to toe in more glitter than you’d find at a five-year-old’s unicorn-themed birthday party was somewhat of a redundancy.
To answer, Matthew lifted his head. Glitter fell out of his hair in sheets, which was impressive, since it was still wet. He stuck out his tongue, scraped a few flecks of glitter off it with his fingertips, and managed a thin, “I’m fabulous.”
Damien masked a caw of laughter by clearing his throat. “For the record, I thought this was Gwynn’s bure. I wouldn’t have done this if I’d known it was yours.”
Half expecting a new onslaught, Matthew rolled onto his side, knocking what glitter wasn’t stuck to him onto the bed, then sat up, brushed his face off as best as he could, and surveyed the room. The fan blades glimmered, and the floor sparkled so brightly, it was likely visible from space. Glitter had collected on the windowsills like snow drifts. The sheets were beyond salvation.
And the pillows.
And the box spring.
Praying that at least one thing in the room hadn’t been glitter bombed, Matthew glanced at his suitcase. It would sparkle for the rest of its natural life, but it was zipped. The clothes inside had been spared.
Matthew’s speedo, on the other hand, would never be the same.
Despite the blinding brilliance of the room and the things unfortunate enough to be in it, one thing was clear: Matthew wasn’t going to be able to clean up this mess on his own.
“I’m going to need some help cleaning.” Matthew ran his hands down his thighs. The glitter on them refused to be dislodged, sticking out like fish scales stroked the wrong way. Matthew picked a few flecks off, then looked pitifully at his father, hoping that he’d step in to help.
He didn’t.
He patted Damien on the shoulder instead. “What was that you said a few hours back? Don’t start none, won’t be none?”
Damien scowled. “Can it, Gwynn.”
“Since you started this, you should be the one to take care of it. You’ll clean it up, won’t you?”
“Fuck, I’m not six—you don’t have to Dad me.Yes,I’m going to clean it up.” Damien rolled his eyes for effect, but when his gaze fell on Matthew, there wasn’t a glimmer of annoyance to be seen. For a split second and nothing more, the corner of Damien’s mouth turned up, and the same eyes that had once exaggerated outrage burned with such yearning that Matthew’s knees went weak. The sexual tension they’d shared just a few moments prior returned with a vengeance.
Damien would be in his bungalow.
Alone.
With him.
Suddenly, being covered head to toe in glitter didn’t seem all that bad.
“Don’t let him weasel his way out of this,” Matthew’s father said in parting. “He was the one who made this mess, and he’s going to be the one who cleans it up.”
“Okay.” Matthew nodded and picked at a patch of glitter above his knee. On the outside he was still, but on the inside excitement shook him to the bone. In a few more seconds, he’d be alone with the man he wanted—the man who made him feel alive.
With an accusatory arch of his brow in Damien’s general direction, Matthew’s father left.
The door closed.
