Seven that evening, Cliff helped Pax wrestle the small piano into the van that Luca lent them.

Streaks of a burnt sunset streamed through the windows, tinging the piano and Cliff’s profile in tangerine. They positioned and secured the piano, then jumped out of the back into a warm breeze that smelled of a smoky barbecue.

A pity the sweet instrument had to be returned, but it didn’t fully belong to him, and the guys had hinted at needing it back.

Besides, he could always use the one in Cliff’s study . . .

In fact, he would use it. “I’m going to tutor her.”

“Hmm?”

“Bianca. She needs a good teacher, and since you have valid reasons not to do it, I’d like to.”

The back doors snapped shut. “Took you long enough.”

Pax gaped and slammed his mouth on a grumble.

Cliff opened the driver side, and Pax the passenger side. Before hopping in, Cliff looked over the seats at him questioningly.

Pax licked his dry lips, and Cliff said, “What?”

“You infuriate me.”

“I know.”

“I cannot believe you worked the entire day.”

“It’s called self-discipline.”

“It makes me wild.”

Cliff smacked his lips together. “Wild?”

“Yeah, I want to storm right through all that order.”

“You’re doing a good job of that already.”

Pax shook his head. “That glint in your eye. It’s like you’re trying to rile me up.”

“What can I say? Quid pro quo.” Cliff slid inside the vinyl-cushioned van.

Pax glared, then smiled. “I am so fucking you later.”

Cliff’s hand rested on Pax’s leg whenever he wasn’t changing gears. His fingers curved to the inside of Pax’s thigh. It felt warm and meaningful—a touch that had nothing to do with sex. A touch that felt far deeper.

It said I like you.

Pax swallowed repeatedly and pressed a clammy hand against the door rest.

“Are you excited for your performance?” Cliff asked as they bumped from red light to red light. It was quickly darkening, and the brightness of the lights hypnotized him. Or maybe it was his need to focus on anything that wasn’t Cliff—but damn, Cliff looked cute in his green sweater.

He shrugged. “We don’t have to talk about band stuff.”

A squeeze on his leg. “Are you excited for your performance?”

In his whole life, Pax had never felt so wrecked with feelings. He laughed. “Nervous, okay? It feels like I’m going to fuck up.”

“I didn’t know you got nervous when it came to music, Apollo.” Cliff spoke softly. Curiously, Pax wanted to slink over the console and fold himself against Cliff’s chest. Kiss his shoulder. Tell him that for the rest of his life every time he heard “Apollo” his chest would hop.

He wanted to cup Cliff’s cheeks and steer his chin down until they locked eyes. Wanted to tell him last night, this morning . . . it wasn’t an aberration. Wasn’t Pax foolishly playing with Cliff’s carefully pieced-together heart.

Pax wanted to tell him that he liked him. That he more than liked him, too.

“I get nervous when it comes to the important things,” he said.

Cliff frowned. Pax did what he always did and slicked on a smile. “Hard to believe when you see all this, I know.”

Cliff stole a glance at him, and Pax teasingly told him to keep his eyes on the road.

When they arrived at Untamed, Cliff helped him haul the piano out of the van. They passed a short line waiting to enter the music-pumping bar, and paused to rest the instrument on the ground, close to where Buster was bellowing at two guys to get their heads out of their asses.

“The guys in already?” Pax called to him.

Buster nodded. “All of them.”

Pax readjusted his grip on the piano. He’d been hoping he’d be the first to show up so Cliff wouldn’t see the guys. He didn’t want any weird feelings cropping up between them. Cliff might have been handling it well, but Pax was aware what Cliff thought of the guys.

Laburnum.

Pax steered them past the wall where Cliff had warned Pax about his feelings. He met Cliff’s eye and wondered if he was thinking of the same moment.

I figured it out.

I don’t want to back away.

Don’t want you to, either.

They settled the piano at the side of the practice room door. “Thanks.”

Cliff moved in front of him at the door, and—like he’d been there a million times—he banged a fist against it. “I’ll help you lug it inside.”

“You just don’t want to leave me.”

Fuck it, Pax would kiss that smoldering look off Cliff’s face right now. He lifted on his toes—

The door swung in, and light jumped from the room.

Pax’s groan of frustration morphed into a growl the second he peered over Tony’s shoulder and caught Blake tapping against the snare drum. Same messy hair, same necklace at his throat, same beefy fist.

Pax should have expected it. Should have fucking known some shit would crop up at band practice after the last few times had been so spectacular.

He swore under his breath. “Tony, come on, man? Blake? You’re kidding me.”

Cliff stiffened next to him.

Tony swung against the door, hand curled around the top. “Yeah, we were hoping we could talk about him rejoining the band.”

“After the fight between us? After—”

“We were hoping we could put that behind us. Blake is better on the drums than Ted, and that frees Ted to support on bass. We need to make an impression on Friday, and our sound has been a little off.”

Pax had no words. Dammit, it should have been the last straw, except that he wanted Lone Whistle and the Deserted so bad.

“Christmas spirit of forgiveness and all that?” Tony said with a smooth grin that Pax almost smacked off his face.

Cliff cuffed the fist Pax squeezed at his side. “How about we put that energy to good use and shove this piano inside?”

Blake was blatantly staring with a snicker on his face. Like he’d known it would end up like this all along. His mouth curled down in barely restrained disgust as he caught sight of Cliff’s hand around Pax’s.

Cliff must have caught the look too, because he said a tight “excuse me” to Tony and waltzed past him into the practice room. He strolled up to the drums, and Pax raced in after him.

Cliff spoke, cold and pointed. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Just leave it,” Pax said, but Cliff didn’t.

Blake continued tapping the drums, blatantly ignoring Cliff, and—yeah, let Cliff have a go at him.

Cliff whipped out a hand and caught the end of Blake’s drumstick. “I asked you a question.”

Blake didn’t look at Cliff but pierced Pax with a look that said he was disappointed the bruise had left Pax’s face.

“I want to know what gave you the right to punch my friend in the eye.”

Blake glared at Cliff. “Let’s see, for months he kept staring at me, which was awkward as fuck. And when I drunkenly fell against him, he took me back home and put me to bed.”

“You were drunk and he helped you home?”

“He took my boots and jeans off.”

“Anything else?”

“No, but dude. There’s a line, and that was pretty fucking far over it.”

“Oh, a line was crossed all right. But it was not Pax who crossed it.”

“Hey, I let it go, okay? Until he fucking kissed me. That mistletoe was an excuse for something he’d been fantasizing about for months.”

Worst mistake of Pax’s life.

He shifted from foot to foot. He felt embarrassed for getting it wrong with Blake. For Cliff knowing he’d gotten it so wrong.

“A harmless kiss was enough for you to bruise his eye black for a week?”

“I couldn’t shake the taste of him off me for as long.”

Cliff laughed coldly and glared at each of the Three T’s in turn. He lingered on Tony. “You’d ditch a friend in need to be ‘fair’ to this guy?”

Blake blurted, “If he kept his tongue in his mouth, I wouldn’t have hit him.”

Cliff zeroed back to him. “So it’s all Pax’s fault?”

“Yeah, but like, I can move on. As long as he doesn’t ever try something like that again.”

“You know what I think? You need a sense of humor. It was mistletoe. You need a sense of guilt. Most of all, you need a sense of gratitude. He helped you home when you were drunk. Something none of you did for him.”

Heat flooded Pax, and he stared at his feet.

“You should feel ashamed of yourselves,” Cliff said with a tight bitterness that Pax felt in his gut.

“I’d say I don’t know who the fuck you are to tell me all this,” Blake said, his smile bitchy. “But I’d be lying. Tony told me who you are. You’re the guy Pax has been pretending to befriend so we can play with Lone Whistle on Friday.”

Pax jerked his head up, embarrassment replaced itself with something worse. A horrible, twisty fear.

Cliff’s shoulders tensed. Pax felt the slam of Blake’s words into Cliff as if Blake were punching him again. This time it felt harder, hurt more.

He hated the way Cliff rocked back on his heels as if reeling from the words.

Pax pushed through a thick wall of guilt and hooked Cliff’s slackened arm.

He’d dropped his hold on the drumstick, and Blake had gone back to drum rolling. Pax didn’t care enough to let his anger loose on Blake. He tugged on Cliff’s arms and murmured for them to leave.

The Three T’s busied themselves in checking their instruments, and Pax had never felt so disappointed in his life. Disappointed in his band. Disappointed in himself.

They made it back to the car and settled inside.

“Cliff . . .”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I’m sorry.”

Cliff started the van without looking at him. “You don’t need to be.”

“It kinda feels like I need to be. And I want to be. And I am.”

Cliff slid his hands up the steering wheel and stared out at the road. “Blake is an asshole. He blurted that out on purpose.”

“Knowing it would hurt you and shame me, you mean?”

Cliff hit the indicator. “I don’t know what you ever saw in him.”

“All I thought about was what I needed. I didn’t think twice who it might hurt. I am so sorry.”

“He didn’t show an ounce of regret.”

Pax thumped his head back on the headrest with a frustrated laugh. “Jesus, Cliff. Let me show an ounce of regret.”

Cliff pegged his eyes on the road. “I didn’t know it was for the gig of your dreams, but I knew you were distracting me for a reason. That I was part of some ploy. I’m not stupid, Apollo. At least, I wasn’t.”

“Until you slept with me?”

Cliff said nothing for a while. “I don’t believe you meant to toy with my heart. It’s not your fault I let you.”

Pax choked on the lump in his throat. “Please. Be mad at me. Send me to my room. Threaten to spank me, I don’t know. Something. I deserve it.”

Cliff mustered a small smile. “You’ve said sorry. It’s fine.”

“It’s a good thing you’re driving on busy streets right now, or I’d be throttling you.”

“Because I won’t spank you?”

“Yes! I feel horrible. I want us to be the way we were.”

“What was the way we were?”

“You know, talking and stuff.”

“We’re talking and stuff now.”

Pax slumped in his seat. “No, Cliff. We’re not.”

And he’d be the one to know. For too long he’d been a master of not talking.