“Can I borrow your car?” Wesley stood in Lloyd’s open door, bent over buckling up his shitkickers. He flashed Lloyd a cajoling smile.

“What’s wrong with MacDonald’s?”

Wesley tugged up the rim and straightened. “She saw me drive last Friday. She won’t let me use it.”

“Smart girl.” Lloyd checked the time. “Where do you need to be?”

“Shadowing my brother. I’ve been making sure he gets to Sandalwood.”

“Is that where you’ve been sneaking off to weekday mornings?”

Wesley draped himself against the doorframe and purred. “I like that you noticed.”

“What about classes? Work?”

Of course that would be Lloyd’s follow up. “I miss a bit of Law here and there, and, except Fridays, I’ve temporarily swapped to closing shifts at Me Gusta Robusta.”

Lloyd grabbed his keys.

Wesley grinned. “Is that a yes to borrowing your car?”

Lloyd grabbed his coat. “That’s a yes to taking you myself. Come on.”

Three minutes later, buckled into Lloyd’s car, they left the student parking lot.

“Where does he usually get on the bus?” Lloyd asked.

“Right outside our dorm—I mean our house. In Chatem Valley. Because why would he get on here? When he lives at home. With Mom. In Chatem Valley.”

Lloyd grimaced doubtfully.

Wesley flipped a grin and glanced down the road where his brother was climbing into the bus. “He’ll be on bus 172, which passes right through here. Oh look. There it is.”

“How convenient.”

“I know, right?”

Lloyd side-eyed him and drove behind bus 172. “You spent a good deal of time ass-up in my bedroom doorway buckling your boots. Now you’re taking them off again?”

Wesley continued weaseling out of his shitkickers and propped his feet up on the dashboard. “I’m not driving. And we’ve got fifty minutes. Enough time for me to be comfortable and continue our conversation about your life. Who is this Aunt Tabitha?”

Lloyd followed the bus around a corner. “My mom’s sister. I’m her nephew. That makes her my aunt.”

Wesley punched him lightly on the arm. “Do you get along?”

“She’s wealthy, and not really.”

“Do tell.”

Lloyd flattened his lips. “Mom got cut off for having me at sixteen, and Tabitha inherited everything. She humiliated my mom for losing her job and asking to help pay my school tuition, and then made me earn them by being her personal assistant during the summer.”

“That’s awful. Actually, awful doesn’t describe this angry feeling balling up in my belly right now. How dare she do that to you? I hate her on your behalf.”

Lloyd’s lip twitched.

“You should feel proud of yourself. You’re working your way through college and winning math-y scholarships.”

“I like that you noticed.” They shared a humored glance.

“Something else I might have noticed. Overheard. Eavesdropped upon . . .”

Lloyd lifted a brow.

“You were on the phone last night. Talking. Sometimes laughing. With . . . ?”

Lloyd’s face lit up, and Wesley didn’t like it. “I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it to yourself.”

“I’ll try. Very hard. Because it’s you. Now who is he?”

“How’d you know it was a he?”

Wesley gave a petulant pout. All exaggerated, of course. “So there is a he.”

“Wesley.”

“I guess this explains the recent color in your cheeks and the twinkle in your eye—this isn’t healthy, Lloyd, jumping from boy to boy. I thought you wanted to find Mr. Goes-To-Bed-Early-on-Saturdays?”

“I might have to change my mind on that one.”

“No changing of the mind. Stick to your best Cap trait and stay determined to find Mr. Perfect-For-You. Even if it means staying single for a long, long time.”

“Why, you sound a little jealous.”

Wesley laughed. “You wish, Cap.”

Lloyd made an amused sound. “Should I go on or not?”

Wesley gestured for him to continue.

“I was chatting with Jamie, who I am hoping will supervise my masters’ project next year.”

“Oh. Your professor friend.”

“Sort of. Heading in that direction, I hope. We both love economics and statistics, and we spend our free time analyzing data—”

“Clearly you should marry him.”

Lloyd snorted. “His partner Theo wouldn’t like that.”

Wesley perked up. “Why didn’t you lead with that bit of info?”

Lloyd rolled his eyes.

“What? Fiancés don’t like hearing about other important men in their lover’s life.”

“Right. Well, I have to woo him.”

“My emotions are yo-yoing here, Lloyd. Woo him?”

“To supervise my masters. Everyone wants him.”

“Who is this Casanova?” Wesley whipped out his arm, preparing to smack Lloyd, but his focus moved to Caleb getting off the bus way too early. “Little ditcher. Damn, what should I do?” Wesley pointed at Caleb. “That was your cue to tell me what to do, Lloyd.”

“Hop out and talk to him.”

“That sounds reasonable. Another idea: Let’s follow his cowboy-clomping booty.”

Lloyd drove into a vacant parking spot. Wesley opened the door, flinging one foot out without taking off his seat belt.

Caleb was walking down the street in their direction but hadn’t noticed them yet.

“Shhh,” he said to Lloyd, and pulled the door shut, slamming it on his toe. “Holy motherfucker!” Pain lanced up his foot and calf. “Fuck, fuck, my toe.”

Lloyd rounded to his side and crouched at the door, palming Wesley’s knee. “Are you okay? Let’s have a look.”

Through gritted teeth, Wesley gave a painful laugh. “I can’t believe he didn’t notice us through all that.”

Lloyd gave him a blank expression. “You don’t still want to follow him?”

“Help me get my boots on over that swelling beast.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re crazy about me.”

Lloyd shook his head and gingerly helped Wesley get his boots on.

“Hurry, he turned a corner.”

* * *

Wesley pulled Lloyd into a crowded auditorium. “Lost him. Damn toe. I would have gotten here faster if I hadn’t—”

“Taken your boots off in my car?”

“—needed to use you as a crutch.”

Over the crowd, Wesley spotted his brother slinking onto the stage with his flute case. He grimaced and bit his bottom lip. “I should have listened to you.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them. “Are you guys moving up there or not?”

Wesley glanced at him and, with a silent plea to Lloyd, said, “Yes we are.”

Lloyd started toward the stage, tucking Wesley close to his side. “You were saying something about listening to me?”

A laugh threaded warmly through his veins. Even his toe felt better. “Guess I should have talked to Caleb outside.”

A woman in a red wig and clipboard cut their path. “Where are your numbers?”

Wesley gave her a puzzled look before catching sight of a freestanding board behind her. Auditions. Dancing extras.

He flashed her a flirty smile. “Actually, we want to go on stage for a second—”

“You need numbers.”

Lloyd tapped into his deep, persuasive voice that always clenched Wesley’s gut. “We don’t mean to interrupt your auditions, we—”

Red Wig wasn’t affected. How wasn’t she affected? “Only way to get on stage is with a number. Stan,” she said to the lackey behind her. “Tag ’em.”

A few seconds later, their backs and stomachs had numbered stickers. Wesley, 198 and Lloyd, 199. Stan shoved them into a line. “Clearly Red Wig isn’t human,” Wesley murmured as the presumed director yelled out numbers and music started playing in the background.

“Wesley,” Lloyd asked, glancing toward the exit. “Why are we standing here like we’re auditioning?”

“Because I need to talk to Caleb. Yell at him.”

Lloyd pinned him with a look, and Wesley tried the same flirty smile on him that hadn’t worked with Red Wig. Lloyd’s expression softened. A little. Unless it was a trick of the stage light. “You heard Principal Bontempo. If he’s caught missing class once, no recommendation to Treble.”

“And you’re prepared to dance your way across the stage to him?”

“Seems the easiest way.”

“Easy?” Wesley followed Lloyd’s gaze to the stage where numbered couples twirled and gyrated to—was his brother playing the flute to Pharrell Williams’ Happy?

Damn, Caleb was talented. “Looks like fun!”

Lloyd stared blankly at him. “Do you not remember the last time we tried to dance? Now add a bum toe to that.”

He might have a point.

The music stopped, and the director threw dancers offstage. The director yelled in exasperation. “I’m giving you the chance to fulfill your dreams. Can I see some real dancing?” He studied his board and called a bunch of numbers. A group of girl-boy dancers sashayed on stage.

Wesley could dance just as well. If not better. He’d suck up the toe pain. “We’ll be fine,” he said to Lloyd, who had his phone pressed to his ear. “Who are you calling?”

“Lifeline?” Lloyd said, then swiveled and talked into the phone. “Gemma, Lloyd here. I’m going to be late for work. Could you fill in until I get there? . . . What am I doing?” He glanced at Wesley, as though he knew he was listening in, and held his gaze. “I’m being a good fiancé.”

Wesley grinned and mouthed, “The best.”

Fifteen minutes later and more cuts called, it was their turn. Lloyd made a tight noise in the back of his throat.

“We’ll move right toward Caleb,” Wesley said, testing his toe on the steps leading to the stage. Tender but manageable. “We might not even have to dance. If we do, keep it simple.”

Music started, and Wesley grabbed Lloyd’s hand. Warm, tingly static skipped up his arm. After recovering from the shock, he tugged Lloyd and threaded him through the dancers.

They only made it halfway to Caleb before the director stopped the music. “One-hundred-ninety-eight and ninety-nine. Why aren’t you dancing?”

The other dancers and band gawked at them. Caleb’s gulp was visible, and he almost dropped his flute.

The spotlight beamed down on Wesley and Lloyd, and Wesley quite liked it. He grinned. “We’re better in the background, by the band.” He glared at his brother, who at least had the decency to blush. Caleb lifted his hand and mouthed, “Five minutes.”

“Your partner is tall,” the director agreed, unconvinced.

Wesley nicked his head in Lloyd’s direction. “I worry he’ll outshine your main actors. You know, because of all the hotness.”

Lloyd laughed, and when Wesley whipped his head around to catch him, Lloyd’s lips settled into a teasing flat line. He lifted one eyebrow, though, and Wesley drilled him with a playful glare.

The director barked. “No, you’re good right there. When the music starts, we’ll pick up at the countdown. Draw close to your partners and it’s kissy-kissy time. Hooray, hooray, New Year’s is here. You know the drill.” He cued the band, who knocked out a beat in time with the crowd joyfully shouting a countdown.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Lloyd’s gaze dropped to Wesley’s lips, and Wesley’s heart lurched into his throat.

Seven. Six.

Wesley licked his lips and laughed. “Well, this is something.”

“It’s something all right.” Lloyd rubbed a thumb over Wesley’s knuckles where Wesley was choking the life out of Lloyd’s hand. He lessened his grip with a sheepish grin.

Five. Four. Three.

Wesley shifted his feet around one of Lloyd’s and rested his shaky hand on his chest. “Kissy-kissy time.”

Lloyd dipped his head. Wesley’s stomach dropped to his knees and through his feet. Lloyd spoke into his ear, voice calm and steady. “It’s an audition. We shouldn’t.”

Two. One.

Lloyd shifted away, but Wesley looped his hand around Lloyd’s neck, gave him a diabolical grin, and kissed him. His lips met Lloyd’s with humored insistence, but he wasn’t ready for the warmth of Lloyd’s mouth. The taste of maple syrup from breakfast clung to the bow of his lip.

Wesley stilled his roaming hands against Lloyd’s shoulder blades, lips grazing off—

Lloyd slid his fingers through Wesley’s hair and cradled his head, drawing him closer.

Wesley’s veins sang with a surge of electricity. He listed against Lloyd’s strong chest, and Lloyd teased Wesley’s lips with his tongue.

Heat rocked through Wesley, and he kept kissing Lloyd well after the music had stopped.

When they parted, Wesley blinked, and blinked again. He only realized he was staring at Lloyd’s swollen bottom lip when Lloyd spoke, “Wesley?”

Wesley looked up into his questioning gaze.

The director yelled their numbers. “You two are out. Bye-bye.”

Wesley whirled toward the director. “You’re casting us out because of that kiss?”

“Yes. Go.”

“Are you completely off your rocker? That kiss was incredible.”

The director ignored him and rolled his finger at the band to wrap up. “Flute, thanks for coming in on short notice. Violin and trumpet, you’re up.”

Wesley scowled at the director. “Serious nut-job that needs glasses,” he muttered.

“He’s wearing glasses.”

Wesley threw his hands up. “See. Sight impaired.”

Lloyd regarded Wesley with amusement, and his face beamed. Wesley’s breath stalled.

The director shouting numbers yanked him out of his fog. Wesley snagged his brother and hurried the hell off stage.

* * *

Wesley and Caleb glared at each other in Lloyd’s car on their way to Sandalwood.

“What?” Caleb mimed from the backseat.

Wesley tried telepathically to answer him. When Caleb played dumb, Wesley took out his phone.

Wesley made an indignant sound, then typed back.

Lloyd caught a glimpse of Caleb through the rearview mirror and then trapped those hazel eyes on Wesley. “I have to wonder if you’re talking about me.”

Wesley’s laugh sounded as forced as it felt. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“Well, my world doesn’t,” Caleb said.

Wesley narrowed his eyes and smiled slyly as Lloyd stopped outside the school. “I hope you get lots of homework for Thanksgiving weekend, Hazelnut.”

As soon as Caleb hopped out, Wesley turned to Lloyd, nervously snapping his wristband. “The kiss was your fault, by the way.”

Lloyd restarted the car and drove with precision—like everything he did. “Is that right?”

“You said we shouldn’t do it.”

“Only you can put two and two together and surprise me.” Lloyd side-eyed him. “How does saying we shouldn’t do it make it my fault?”

“You made it a rule.” He tucked his feet onto the seat, wincing when he bumped his toe. “I like to break rules.” Lloyd glanced at him, and Wesley’s gaze dropped to his lips. “I like to break them over and over. Repeatedly. What are we talking about?”

Lloyd’s lips twitched. “Rules.”

“Right. I fight against them because”—he pointed to himself—“Gemini. And you are a Capricorn.” He shouldn’t forget that. That kiss had done sneaky tricks to his mind. “Your fault.”

Lloyd glanced at him. “It won’t ever happen again.”

Lloyd!