His eyes flew open.

The phone next to his pillow chirped.

For a moment, Press had no idea where he was. Then his fingers bunched the sheets into his hands and he recognized the familiar warmth. Mateo's bed. His favorite place in the world. Mateo's enchanted bedding adjusted to body temperature and always smelled like cedar and lemongrass.

Press pushed himself up on one elbow, wiping crust from his eyes. Morning sun filtered through the blinds. His head pounded. His mouth tasted like something had crawled inside and died.

Where was Mateo?

He squinted around the room. Mateo's space looked like a magazine spread for rich kids. Floating shelves lined with vinyl records and baseball trophies from high school. A gaming setup that cost more than Press's car. Posters of K-Rock bands plastered on one wall, an original painting with moving, swirling shapes from a famous mage artist on another. Everything organized and in its place, like Mateo himself.

Most students at Vale College lived in dorms or off-campus apartments by junior year, but Mateo's baseball scholarship came with family expectations attached. His parents wanted him close. Something about "maintaining the Santos legacy" and "staying focused on what matters." Press always thought it was just Dr. Santos's way of keeping her son on a short leash.

His phone chirped again.

Harley. His best friend and social media manager.

Hey Press-On

He rolled his eyes at her nickname for him.

Just checking on u after last night. U were pretty smashed.

Was that why his mouth felt like he'd been chewing on cotton? Why his body ached and his stomach kept flipping like he was trapped on a roller coaster?

Last night came back in fragments. A party with other Vale students. An end-of-year blowout at Connelly Palmer's sprawling estate. Too many of those hilarity elixirs that made everything silly and hazy. Did he jump in the pool with his clothes on?

He couldn't remember.

He typed back: yeah I'm fine. at mateo's

The text bubbles appeared immediately.

U better get up and take a shower. The Santos garden party starts in a couple of hours, right? Chop chop!

Press groaned and checked the time. Harley was right. Two hours. He still needed to get home, shower and change. He hadn't planned on spending the night here. Those elixirs must have hit him harder than he thought.

"Hey sleepyhead. You're up." The voice came from the doorway.

Press turned to see Mateo walking in with a tray. Steaming coffee and a plate of sliced oranges.

"What the hell happened last night?" Press asked as Mateo set the tray on the nightstand.

Mateo made a face. "Maybe drink some coffee first."

Press rubbed the back of his neck. "That bad?"

Mateo nodded.

"Do I even want to know?" Press asked, falling back onto the pillows.

Mateo sank onto the bed beside him. "Probably not. Let's just say my car's enchanted self-detailer earned its money last night. You owe me for the cleanup."

"Can I give you a belated apology?"

"You can do better than that."

Mateo leaned over and kissed Press gently on the forehead. Soft and slow, like Press was something precious. It always touched something deep in his chest when Mateo did that.

Press reached up and brushed his thumb across Mateo's jaw. "You're stressed about today. I can tell."

"I'm fine."

"Liar." Press tugged him closer. "Your mom's been riding you about every detail for weeks. You've barely slept. You're running on fumes and pretending you're not."

"It's just a party," said Mateo.

"It's never just a party with her." Press kissed the dimple in Mateo's chin. "But you've got this. And if it gets to be too much, find me. We'll hide in the bathroom and make fun of everyone's outfits."

Mateo laughed, and the tension in his face eased. "You're ridiculous."

"Just admit that you love it."

"Yeah," Mateo said softly. "I really do."

When Mateo leaned in for a real kiss, Press pushed him back. "I need to brush my teeth first. My breath could kill a man."

Mateo laughed. "Fine. But make it quick. My mom's already losing her mind about the party."

Press sat up and reached for the coffee. "This is for me?"

"No, it's for my other boyfriend. The one who doesn't throw up in my car," Mateo said, giving him a mock-serious look.

Press took a long sip. Light and sweet, just how he liked it. "You really are my knight," he said.

He finished the coffee but couldn't touch the oranges. His stomach wasn't ready for that. When he asked for his clothes, Mateo pointed to the chair by his desk. Already washed and folded.

Press shimmied into his jeans while Mateo settled onto the window seat, watching him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Mateo took a deep breath.

That breath made Press's stomach drop. It meant bad news. It always did.

"So about the garden party..." Mateo's voice trailed off.

Press's heart started beating in a chaotic rhythm. Something wasn't right.

"My mom thinks maybe you should sit this one out."

"Wait. What?"

"She saw me bring you home last night. You were dripping wet. Stumbling drunk." Mateo lowered his head and paused. "She just thinks it's best if you don't come."

The words hit Press like a back-handed slap. "I'm uninvited?"

Mateo winced. "Don't look at it that way. Just think of it as getting some time to rest after a wild night."

Press pushed his head through the opening of his shirt, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "I have to make content. I have a deal with Luxecaster and I owe them footage from this party. It's been planned for weeks. They already sent me clothes and paid me a deposit!"

Mateo sighed and scratched his palm. He always did that when he was anxious.

Press wanted to scream.

Mateo was never good at standing up to his mom. Dr. Santos had always treated Press like an inconvenient pimple she couldn't pop. She never said outright that she didn't like him. She didn't have to. He'd felt it since Mateo first invited him over two years ago.

And it wasn't because her son was gay. Dr. Santos was a proud supporter of LGBTQ causes. She just didn't like Press.

Maybe it was the Old Magic versus New Magic thing. The Santos family had power running through their bloodline. They could even trace their ancestors back to Eduardo Perez Santos, the Grandmage of Spain, in the 1500s. Press's dad only stumbled into money with some patented invention when Press was fourteen. There was a difference between magic that coursed through your veins for generations and the affinities that new money could only rent.

Press understood the hierarchy better than most. He'd learned it the hard way, watching how people's eyes changed when they found out his family's money was new. The condescending way Old Magic families smiled at him like he was a cute pet who'd learned to walk on two legs.

Mateo never looked at him that way. They'd seen each other around high school, but it wasn't until they drank elixirs at a Vale freshman party that they really talked. Mateo had asked about Press's art, not his family name. Asked what he dreamed about, what he wanted in life, not where his money came from. It was the first time Press felt seen for something other than his follower count or his father's patents.

That was the night Press fell.

But Dr. Santos was willing to make Press feel as small as possible. He couldn't let her take this from him. Not when he'd already made promises to his sponsors.

"I'll be good," Press pleaded. "I won't drink any elixirs. I'll be on my best behavior. I swear."

Mateo stood from the window seat and crossed the room. Cupped Press's face in his hands. "You don't have to convince me. You know I love having you around, even when you're a drunk fool. It's my mom I have to convince. And you know how she is."

Yes. They all knew how she was.

Press pulled back and squared his shoulders. He finished getting dressed, then kissed Mateo on the cheek. "I understand," he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

He knew that if he wanted to visit the Santos house any time in the future, he had to keep his composure. So he put on his shoes and followed Mateo down the winding staircase into the large, gleaming foyer.

At the front door, Mateo wrapped his arms around Press from behind. "Your car's still out front."

Right. They'd taken Mateo's car to Connelly's party last night. His was still parked where he'd left it.

"Call me later?" Mateo asked in that voice he used when he didn't want Press to be mad at him.

Press nodded. He couldn't be upset with Mateo. But he wished, just once, that Mateo would stand up to his mother.

The heavy oak door closed behind him. Press shielded his eyes from the blinding sun and walked to his car. It was parked on one end of the huge circular driveway. He climbed inside.

He was about to start the engine when another car pulled in.

Press froze.

He watched as Xander Nicholas parked his yellow jeep at the other end of the driveway, stepped out and made his way toward the front door.

What the hell was Xander doing here?

Xander was typing something into his phone, so he didn't look up. But Press sank low in his seat so his classmate wouldn't spot him just in case.

What made it worse was watching the front door fly open. Dr. Santos greeted Xander with a wide smile and an even wider hug. Press couldn't think of one time Dr. Santos had ever hugged him.

Heat flooded his chest as she ushered Xander inside and closed the door behind them.

Did Mateo know Xander was coming over?

No. Mateo wasn't like that. If he'd known, he would have said something. This had Dr. Santos written all over it. She didn't look so stressed about her garden party anymore. She looked thrilled to see Press's nemesis walk through her door.

Press gripped the steering wheel.

His mom used to say something back when she still gave advice worth taking. Sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

So forget permission. Press wasn't waiting around to be re-invited. He was going to that garden party. He needed to see what was happening with his own eyes.

He'd deal with forgiveness later.