Pax hooked their arms and yanked Cliff through the entrance to the grounds.

“Haven’t distracted me enough yet?” Cliff asked.

“Not nearly.”

They trod on stone around neatly trimmed grass. Salty sea breezes mixed with sweet pollen. “Twenty minutes. Then I check in with Bianca.”

Pax smirked to himself and made their trip around the grounds stretch for an hour.

When they returned to the cinnamon-and-sweat scented ballroom, Pax spotted Tony chatting to the harpist, readjusting his musketeer hat.

“Check in with Bianca. I’ll come over soon.”

Cliff’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Pax wound through waltzing couples and caught Tony setting two empty beer glasses atop the bar—for the other guys. Like Pax, Tony didn’t often drink. “Tony.”

Tony turned and grinned at him. “Bro. How’s that piano working out for you?”

“She’s a beauty. How are you boys holding out without my guitar?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m working it. Not quite your level, but I’ll get there.”

Pax leaned against the sticky bar top. “I have a number for you.”

“The Lone Whistle gig?”

Pax pulled the paper out of his pocket and slapped it into Tony’s outstretched hand. “It’s ours.”

Tony studied the number. “Bro. I’m talking to the guys about this tomorrow, when they’re not wasted.” He took his refilled beer glasses and jerked his chin in a nod. “See you around.”

A crowd of dancing Lost Boys swallowed him from sight, leaving Pax sagging against the bar, a horrible sour taste in his mouth. He climbed onto a bar stool, ordered a whiskey, and rubbed his temples.

He should feel relieved. He had done what he needed and tomorrow they’d call him back to the band.

Except, why not invite him to hang out now?

Why did he sigh in relief that Tony hadn’t?

The whole moment had felt stiff and unnatural. Of course, maybe it would take a while for them to ease into their old banter. Just . . .

Cliff’s laughter caught his attention and he jerked his head toward it. A dozen feet away, Cliff stood against a chaise edging the dance floor talking to Rapunzel. Fake golden hair glittered past her tight waist to the hem of her very short dress.

They stood in profile, her hand reaching out to rub Cliff’s yellow sleeve. His chin tilted up with another laugh, and Pax choked his whiskey glass.

Cliff’s gaze swept to the bar and he stilled momentarily when he spotted Pax.

Pax lifted his glass toward them before sinking it back to the bar like a stone. He stared at the golden liquid, cursing his peripheral vision. Cursing Cliff for dragging Rapunzel toward him.

“Would you like a drink?” Cliff asked her.

“Water.”

Cliff caught the bartender’s eye. “Make it two.”

Cliff pressed close to Pax’s stool, Rapunzel hovering behind them. He glanced at Pax’s whiskey, then at Pax.

“Boozing with the band your usual way to waste a weekday?”

The shrew was back. Rather more comforting than the Cliff from atop the castle.

Pax took a gulp of the throat-burning alcohol. “Sure. Why not. I’m a rock star.”

Cliff twisted and handed Rapunzel a water. He sipped his own, hips cocked out as he leaned against the bar.

A waltz harped around them.

“Want to dance?” Rapunzel asked Cliff.

Cliff set his water next to Pax. “Drink the rest.”

He led Rapunzel a few feet into the dance area, catching Pax’s eye over her shoulder.

“Tonight we feel music. We dance a rhythm. When you feel, when you have emotion, you can have fun.”

Pax rolled his eyes at Cliff’s adaption of Luca’s words, and hid a smile into his whiskey.

They danced three songs uninterrupted, and then another. Pax felt too heavy to move from his stool. His spirits might leak out of his feet the moment he stood.

A woman with a short tartan skirt and tight cashmere top joined him at the bar. “You’re Pax Polo.”

He twisted toward her with a comforted smile. “And you are?”

She lifted a magnifying glass and looked at him through it. “Nancy, hence the Nancy Drew costume.”

She ordered a rum and Coke and perched on the stool to Pax’s left, angled toward him and the dance floor. “I spotted you across the room earlier.”

“How—”

“You were talking to what is probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“—flattering,” he finished weakly. He twisted toward her. On the dance floor, Cliff whisked Rapunzel smartly around as the lute and harp wrapped up a duet. Pax readjusted to block himself from the view.

“God, look at him.” Nancy laughed at herself, and then sighed. “He can dance.”

“He can fight,” Pax muttered, hating how much Nancy was ogling Cliff.

“Sorry?” Nancy said.

Pax shrugged off the grumpiness vining through his chest. “He is young, and hot, and has prospects. He cares deeply for his sister and he is the most handsome man you’ve ever met. His only fault is that he is a terribly impatient, snarky bastard so beyond redemption that you’d be better off looking elsewhere. Like that guy.”

He pointed to a hulking form parting a sea of guests with a single look.

“The bouncer?” Nancy squeaked.

“Angel in comparison.”

A throat cleared close behind him, and Pax swiveled around. Cliff leaned against the bar, eyes sparkling with something that had Pax clutching his empty glass.

“Are you done telling this woman how hot I am?”

Pax gestured to Cliff and spoke to Nancy. “You can see for yourself. Not a jot of modesty, either.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I can live with all the snark in the world to dance with such a specimen.”

“You are made of stronger stuff than me.”

Cliff snorted and his signature feathery smack met Pax’s nape. “Stop drinking.”

“Control freak.” He motioned the bartender for another. Although he really was done. He liked a little buzz, but not more. Preferred being in control of his senses. “Where’s Rapunzel?”

It came out more bitter than he calculated.

Cliff paused. “Foxtrotting with Count Olaf.”

His grip relaxed on his glass.

Cliff rounded Pax with a gust of his nutty scent and offered his hand to Nancy, suggesting they dance. He angled his head toward Pax. “Would you believe we’re friends?”

Their gazes snagged for a stretched moment.

“Are you?” Nancy asked with a disbelieving laugh.

Cliff didn’t confirm, just laughed along with her.

“Of a sort,” Pax tossed out as they melted into the crowd. One honest moment didn’t change the fact that Cliff had thrown a dart at his face.

He stared at his fresh drink, golden liquid sparkling in the light. The exact shade of the angel wings. Funny, how she always cropped up in his mind. Maybe because she’d gotten him into this meddling mess with the neighbors. If he hadn’t caught her, maybe things would have ended at an eavesdropped conversation. Maybe he wouldn’t be feeling like . . . this.

He glared at the magnifying glass Nancy left behind and turned to scan the dance floor.

Cliff twirled Nancy and pulled her back in.

The Three Musketeers’ arms were thrown over one another’s shoulders as they sang a ditty at the top of their lungs, drawing a crowd. “Last one,” Tony called out. “Then we’re ditching you geeks.”

Their crowd cheered.

An idea simmered in his mind, making his belly curl. Should he try it?

“Che bella notte serata,” a voice chimed. It was the Man in Black, whose mask and bandana remained firmly in place. “What a night. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Sure.” Pax slid his whiskey to him. “Want it?”

“I am drunk enough on Bianca. Do you think Cliff is ready to leave?”

Pax glanced sharply at the transition. “You okay, Luca?”

“Bianca sprained her foot.”

“If you tell Cliff his sister needs to get home, he’ll be the first one out of here.” Pax watched Cliff turn Nancy again. “In fact, I think you should tell him right away.”

Luca moved toward the dance floor and Pax lurched off his stool to hold him back a moment. “You guys go without me.” He glanced toward the musketeers. “I’m hitching a ride back with my band.”

“Certain?” Luca asked.

All Pax had to do was fake being more drunk than he was. Just like Luca had said. True friends would get him home.

They might be a little selfish, and perhaps a bit dickish on occasion, but they’d spent a year debating the pros and cons of adopting a band Dalmatian from the animal shelter. They donated to Greenpeace. At heart, good bros.

“I’m sure. It’ll work out fine.”

“I’ll see you later then?”

“They’ll probably toss me in my old bed for the night. See you tomorrow. Keep Cliff from coming over here, yeah?”

Last thing he needed were laburnum analogies from the shrew. He was wrong.

Totally wrong.

Luca made for Cliff, and Pax splashed whiskey over his jaw and shirt. With a wince, even swiped some through his hair.

He hunched over his glass until he eyed Cliff leaving Nancy to find his sister.

After the four he’d come with had left, Pax knocked back the last dredge of whiskey, and slouched off his stool.

Putting on his best act, Pax stumbled through dancing couples with exaggerated—and slurred—apologies. The three musketeers were grabbing their swords and hats from a U of chaises. Pax dramatically slurred a “hey guys” and pitched himself face-first onto a velvet cushioned chaise, arm flung over one edge.

“Pax?” Tim said, startled. “Dude, you’re even here?”

He garbled some words, cut himself off, and faked passing out.

“Who’s he with?” Tim asked Tony.

Tony nudged his foot, and Pax startled himself awake. “Huh, no man. No ride,” and started to nod off.

Ted tossed a glass of water over his face. Pax lurched at the shock of cold. A sliver of ice zipped down his shirt. He heeled his palms on the chaise cushions and pushed himself into a sitting position, adding a decent sway to his torso. The boys had their hats and swords in place.

“You guys ready?” Tony said. “What are we gonna do with Pax?”

Tim shrugged, and grabbed a Christmas pie from a passing waiter. “Open your hand, man.”

Pax groggily complied. Pastry smacked his palm. “Eat up. Ted, you done with your water?”

“He can have my bottle,” Tony said.

Tim clapped his hand on Tony’s and Ted’s shoulders. “You’ll sober up, eh, Pax? You got the keys, Tony?”

Pax weakly gnawed the pie and dropped it to his lap. “I feel shit.”

Tony reached over and lifted his chin. “We can’t take you with us, man. It’s not fair to Blake.”

Not fair, like how they continued to practice with him after they were supposedly both kicked out?

Tony winked. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“Buses are going every half an hour,” Tim said.

Ted clapped him on his back on the way past. Pax let the impact knock him onto his side. The velvet smooshed against his cheek. The water bottle dug painfully at his side, but not as painfully as the horrible heavy sludge in his stomach.

He stayed where he was, watching them leave. Hoping they might turn back. Heat stung his eyes and his throat felt like he’d been burning it with whiskey all night long.

His vision blurred. He slammed his eyes shut.

A minute or two passed, and it took everything Pax had to keep the hiccup down.

Air stirred close to him, and he sucked in a hopeful breath. The guys had returned after all.

Committed to his act, he kept his eyes closed, smacked his lips, and mumbled.

Leather met his cheek, and—Wait, leather?

He fluttered open his eyes. Light and shadow played with his senses a moment before he focused on Cliff bent over him. His expression was not schooled and calm as it usually was. Green eyes scrolled over his face, leather-gloved hand sliding to the back of his neck and the chaise.

Pax’s heart heaved in his chest.

Cliff came back?

Maybe Bianca left her purse or something?

Wait, how much had Cliff seen? Had he watched Pax begging the musketeers for a ride?

He swallowed tightly. Had Cliff seen how pathetic Pax was? How unimportant?

Fuck, if Cliff figured out he wasn’t even drunk . . .

He couldn’t find out. Drunkenness gave him a little of his dignity back.

“Have you come back to fight me?” Pax lazily groped for his sword.

Cliff batted his hand away and curled his other arm around Pax’s back, bracing against his shoulder and heaved him into a sitting position. Breath fanned over Pax’s nose and cheekbone. “How much did you drink? You reek of booze.”

Pax shrugged. Kept swaying.

Cliff scooped an arm around his waist and steered Pax’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

Pax leaned his weight against Cliff like a drunk person might. Cliff was solid at his side. Aftershave and Cliff’s nutty scent filled his lungs.

With straining muscles, Cliff steered him out of the castle.

“Wait, did you find Bianca’s purse?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You came back inside for something.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Shouldn’t you find it?”

Cliff squeezed Pax’s side, the press of his fingers distinct through Pax’s thin shirt. “Drunken dumbass.”

The uttered words tickled through the front of Pax’s hair. “Shove me in a taxi. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

“They won’t see you. Luca is driving Bianca and Henry home.”

Pax’s step stuttered. “You let two boys drive her home?”

“One is driving, and the other is alone in the back seat. Can’t be too handsy like that. Besides, we’re following in a cab.”

Cliff continued to clutch him as they passed through the gate, where Buster was sucking on a cigarette.

Buster blew out rings of smoke and stared at Cliff. “Pax was the guy you returned for?”

Cliff grunted. “He overdid it with the drink.”

“Pax has only gotten drunk once in his life.”

Shut up, Buster.

Buster continued, “Nah, you’re not wasted. Too much cunning in your eye.”

Cliff rearranged Pax’s arm, stretching it over his shoulder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be draped over me like this if he wasn’t drunk.”

“No, no I wouldn’t,” Pax garbled. He caught Buster’s eye and gave him a pointed glare and a silent plea.

A flash of understanding shot through his eyes. “Get him the hell out of here, Mr. Rochester.”

“Getting a cab now,” Cliff assured him.

They hobbled down the path toward a row of cabs, and Pax sniggered. “Mr. Rochester. That would have been a better costume. Serious. Tells other people what to do. Loves locking people up in the attic. . .”

Cliff lessened his hold on Pax. “On second thought, we’re taking a bumpy ride back in the bus.”

For the first time, Cliff didn’t follow through with a threat—a refreshing, albeit unsettling change. They took a cab.

They sat in the back, Pax leaning against the door, forehead butting the cold window. Neither of them spoke until it was time to pay. Pax flopped back onto the seat and dug through his pocket for cash. The top of his head rubbed against Cliff’s outer thigh.

He withdrew the money as Cliff leaned between the front seats and paid.

Cliff blinked down at him.

Pax pressed the money against his chest, but Cliff ignored it, leaning over him to open the door. The hem of Cliff’s yellow dress brushed over his face, and Pax squeezed his eyes shut.

Cliff helped him scooch out of the cab and wrapped an arm around his waist as they hobbled to the sidewalk.

The cab roared up the hill, and they were left in the dark, staring through vapored breaths at Cliff’s illuminated house.

The living room window framed Luca and Henry next to the Christmas tree, Bianca out of sight, presumably in a chair with her leg propped up.

Cliff stiffened.

“Now that I think about it, 1984 woulda been a great choice for tonight.” Pax remembered to slur a little at the end.

He tried to pull away from Cliff, but Cliff doubled his hold. “Great choice?”

“You’re the ultimate big brother.”

Cliff barked out a laugh. “Right.”

“Go break them up, I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk. I’m passing you on to Luca.”

“No,” Pax said quickly. A bit too quickly.

Cliff’s brow quirked, and Pax rolled his head back onto Cliff’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see that rigidly focused gaze. “Don’t want Luca to know I’m already back tonight. Tell him you saw the band pick me up. I’ll pretend I returned early in the morning.”

A long moment where all Pax heard were Cliff’s steady breaths.

“He won’t figure it out,” Pax said hurriedly. “I’m quiet. Besides, Luca is the deepest sleeper I’ve met.”

“Why the lie?” Cliff asked somberly.

Because the truth ached, and he didn’t want to deal with it.

And . . . if Luca figured out what happened . . . would he still look up to Pax?

“It’s enough you know how . . .”

“Drunk you are?”

Pathetic. Pax forced out, “You saw the guys leave.”

Cliff said nothing. He twisted away from his gate, urging Pax toward his place.

Pax’s stomach lurched.

“But, what about the boys?” Pax said, accidentally flinging his hand against a bush as he waved it behind them. “They might stir up trouble.”

“There’s only one boy I’m worried about stirring up trouble,” Cliff murmured.

Cliff helped him up the stairs and into his bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light, but a prism of brightness cut into his bedroom from the hall, and moonlight leaked through the window, meeting the hallway light in the middle. The angel glittered on her windowsill.

The rest of his room held various depths of shadow. It smelled faintly of the deodorant Pax had sprayed on earlier.

Pax pulled out of Cliff’s warm hold and dropped onto his bed. The wooden frame cut into his calves, while the rest of him swelled on a watery wave.

Cliff hesitated, peering across into the darkened study. “Looks different from this side.”

Pax faked a drunken hum. He had a strange need for company and didn’t want Cliff to leave. Even though he could see in Cliff’s posture—the rocking back on his heel, the slight twist of his hips—that he was preparing to go.

Pax fumbled with his bootlaces, pretended to give up, and lifted a foot, nudging Cliff’s leg. “Undress me?”

Cliff’s chest pushed out with a held breath, and then he swallowed audibly. “No.”

“I’ll be uncomfortable sleeping with my boots on.”

“You should have thought about that before you started drinking.” Cliff’s voice was broken at the edges. “Consider it a lesson.”

Pax changed his mind. He didn’t care for company after all.

He scowled at Cliff as he picked at his shirt buttons. They popped open one by one. The loose sides of his shirt drifted over his pecs and he shrugged it off his shoulders.

“Pass me a shirt from the dresser, at least?”

Cliff didn’t hesitate. He opened drawers and tossed him a shirt. “I should head back—”

Pax stiffened as the front door slammed shut. He gestured wildly for Cliff to shut the door. He whispered, “Can’t let Luca see you leave.”

Cliff sighed and closed the door softly.

Pax waited for Luca’s steps on the staircase. Instead, Luca and Henry bickered, and then the TV powered on. They were in the living room.

Cliff spoke softly, nothing that might carry. “How long do you expect me to hide in here?”

“All night if you have to.”

Pax couldn’t be sure with the light, but he thought Cliff’s eyes flashed sharply over him. “If you think I’d subject my body to a waterbed, think again.”

“Who said you’d sleep with me? The floor is right there. You’re standing on it.”

“You’ve lost your slur.”

Pax pretended to struggle into his T-shirt, feeling Cliff’s prickly hot gaze inspecting him. He “forgot” to smooth the material down, leaving one hip and a slip of his treasure trail free.

He redoubled his sway. “Here’s an idea. You can jump out the window. Careful not to knock over the angel on your way out.”

Cliff folded his arms. “You keep doing that. Multiple times over the course of the evening.”

“Doing what? Telling you where you can go?”

“Touching your eye,” Cliff said.

Pax dropped his hand, unaware he’d been fingering his eye. He yanked at his laces again, truly unknotting them this time.

“The bruise is gone,” Cliff said. “Does it still hurt?”

Just on the inside.

“What happened?”

Pax shrugged and gave up on his boots.

Cliff dropped to his knees before him, so close it felt like their auras slid together. He worked at the knot in Pax’s laces.

Pax shivered.

Cliff lifted his gaze and held his, and Pax squirmed under another barrage of electric shivers.

If he couldn’t even spit out the truth with his bandmates, he’d definitely have no luck spitting it out with Cliff.

No luck at all.

Absolutely none.

Cliff freed the laces and tugged off the boot, then started working the other side.

“I hit on the wrong person,” Pax said.

The moment it was out, he wished it back. Coldness rushed through him, and he felt exposed, vulnerable. He wanted to see his guitar, but Cliff’s body was blocking it. He turned his head and focused on the windowsill, where the angel shone in the moonlight.

Cliff’s fingers barely paused on him, but Pax felt the slight delay. His voice was low, considered. “Didn’t you say your drummer punched you? Blake, right?”

Pax hated the name.

Hated this uncontrollable sting building behind his eyes. Hated that Cliff knew. Not a hint, not thrown out as a joke. Not innuendo. He knew.

Pax couldn’t take it back. Or could he? His voice leaped up an octave. “I hit on his sister. Blake is like you. Very protective.”

Cliff’s fingers paused longer this time, and Pax didn’t dare look at him. The angel blurred.

“Oh, Pax.” Soft fingers curved under his chin and steered his gaze toward Cliff. “That wasn’t convincing at all.”

Pax blinked. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but Cliff staying true to himself was exactly what he needed.

A whip of laughter lashed up his throat, and he muffled it with a palm as he dropped back against the bed.

Cliff pried open his second boot and drew it off. Hands brushed against his legs as Cliff stood. Pax twisted onto the bed and hooked his hands behind his head. He kept his pose cool and unaffected, but his insides were one big knot. If only it could be as easily untangled as his laces.

Cliff picked up Pax’s Nokia from the nightstand, and then grabbed his own phone.

Pax watched with a strange needy ache for reassurance. “What are you doing?”

“Getting myself out of here.”

Pax laughed at himself for the disappointment riding through his chest. “Because I’m gay? You don’t have to worry, Clifford. Shrews aren’t my type.”

Cliff swung around with a shadowy frown. “Bit late for throwing up walls, Apollo. Also, unnecessary. I already knew you were interested in men.”

A stupid hiccupped laugh fled from his control. “You thought I was after Bianca.”

“Not for long.”

“What gave me away?”

“What didn’t? Skinny-dipping with the shrew. Your debauched version of ‘O Holy Night.’ Calling me hot tonight—”

“I wasn’t subtle and you’re not leaving because I’m gay, I get it.”

A suppressed laugh. He set Pax’s Nokia down and continued tapping on his phone.

Quiet seeped between them, and Pax trained his eye on Cliff’s profile, head bowed toward the illuminated screen.

Pax’s body felt like a live wire, waiting to analyze Cliff’s next words, movement, audible breath.

Cliff tossed the phone on the bed. It slid over the blankets and coolly nudged the skin where his T-shirt had bunched. The bite had goosebumps prickling up his side.

“On Bianca’s behalf,” Cliff said. “Thank you for tonight.”

Pax frowned. “Bianca can thank me herself. If you’re going to do it, let it be from you.”

Cliff dropped his eyes from Pax’s to his phone. “Read it, I know you want to.”

Pax ignored the phone, and pulled Cliff by the hem of the yellow dress. Cliff listed forward, and Pax’s knuckles bumped Cliff’s thighs. “Thank me. Please?”

Cliff stared down at him, and they silently battled for a dozen unnerving seconds. “I . . . Thank you.”

Pax let go, but Cliff stayed there, looming above him.

With restless fingers, Pax grabbed Cliff’s phone and read the message he sent to Luca.

Nearly home. No Pax. Put the kettle on, and you, Henry, and me talk summer tutor + rehearsal schedule.

He must have read the message the same time as Luca, because a sudden scuffling came from below, followed by thumping steps and the slam of the front door.

“Well played, Shrew,” Pax said, holding out the phone.

Their fingers brushed, and Pax let go, a nervous hop in his voice. “Best part of your evening?”

“I can’t decide.”

“I liked fighting with you best.”

Cliff’s lips twisted at the ends. “How predictable.”

Pax swatted Cliff on the thigh, and then sank his hand to the bed, where his fingers naturally rested at the top of Cliff’s knee. “Out there on the battlements, you opened up a bit.”

Cliff bent over Pax and draped the covers over his side, faces inches apart. “You smiled.”

Pax scoffed. “I smile all the time.”

“Not like that.”

Pax’s breath hitched, and he turned it into a soft laugh. “Maybe crossing swords does us good.”

Expression frozen, Cliff focused on the angel. “I’m afraid you might be right.”

Cliff continued looking at the angel, face pensive, and Pax rubbed Cliff’s knee again. Spoke quietly. “You can take her anytime, you know.”

“I . . . know.” Cliff backed toward the door. He darted a look between Pax and the angel, and walked out.