“Secondhand shopping?” Cliff said incredulously.

“Wholesome fun,” Pax corrected, Bianca and Luca trailing a few yards behind.

Cliff resisted when Pax tried to pull him into the store, glancing anxiously at his giggling sister.

“Come on,” Pax said, amused. Amused and determined the shrew would crack at least one smile this afternoon. “It’s one o’clock. Besides, you’ll be a dozen yards from them at any given time. No one’s getting knocked up.”

Cliff reluctantly stepped inside with him. The huge, soccer-pitch-sized warehouse stretched before them, filled with secondhand attire, its exposed beams extending to a high roof. The cool air sent a slight chill over Pax’s exposed forearms.

Pax breathed in the musty smell of old clothes and gave Cliff a reassuring pat. “Now for the fun part.”

Cliff eyed the aisles. “What’s that?”

“Stripping in each other’s company as we try on inappropriately slutty clothing two sizes too small for us. It’ll be great.”

Cliff looked at him drolly. “Wholesome, indeed.”

Pax grabbed a cowboy hat and planted it on Cliff’s head. He held it in place, smirking up at Cliff. “I’m enjoying myself already.”

He sauntered through aisles, picking clothes off the rack and dismissing them. The theme party was next Tuesday at Larnach Castle. Guests could dress as any character from literature.

Question was, who would they dress as?

Cliff followed Pax with a mutter, fixing the clothes that had fallen off hangers after Pax attempted to stuff them back onto the racks.

Bianca and Luca had slipped inside the warehouse and beelined for the farthest corner where the ball dresses were. Thankfully, Cliff gave them space.

Cliff clipped a pair of jeans and placed them onto the rack. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

A costume and a smile. Not in that order. “Yep.”

“Do you know where we’ll find it?”

“Nope.”

“So much fun indeed.”

Pax swallowed a smirk. “What’s your favorite fiction book?”

“1984. George Orwell.”

“You’re no help at all.” Pax messaged Luca, asking him for ideas.

Pax eyed the two in the distance, Luca was leaning toward Bianca like a man in love. His smile dazzled, and hers dazzled right back at him.

Cliff had followed his gaze, and stood frozen at Pax’s side.

He surged forward, and Pax hauled him back by the crook of his arm. “They’re picking out a dress.”

“A dress for what?” Cliff asked.

With his other hand, he read Luca’s response.

Pax had the Westley frame going for him, but Luca clearly needed this more. And he wanted Luca to have it. Anything to keep both their smiles dazzling.

How could he make Cliff dazzle now?

Maybe a costume would help. Pax eyed his physique. “I need a white shirt.” And Cliff needed a slinky yellow, long-sleeved one.

He couldn’t find a yellow one but found the next best thing.

He dragged Cliff to an empty aisle. “Take your shirt off and put this on.”

He balled the yellow material against Cliff’s hard stomach. Cliff shook it out. “A dress?”

Pax was already peeling off his T-shirt. He flung it over a rack and stuffed one arm in the sleeve of a loose white shirt. The other sleeve caught on something and he tried to wrench it free—

Cliff closed the three feet between them. His body leaked heat, and the balled dress he held brushed against his bare chest. Cliff focused on freeing the shirt, tongue darting out his mouth.

Fingers whispered over the skin at his shoulders. Pax shivered.

“Cold?” Cliff asked, gaze shifting to his.

“Cold-hearted? Sorta. Working on it.” He meant it this time.

Cliff’s dimple peeked out. Not quite a smile, but close.

He swallowed, and Cliff set his shirt free.

Pax grabbed it, ready to sink his arm into the sleeve—

“Wait.” Cliff clutched his upper arm, fingers heating his cool skin. He studied Pax’s tattoo of a rearing stallion. “Why do you have the symbol for National Bank tattooed on your arm?”

“It’s not the National Bank horse.”

Cliff let go. “Fooled me.”

Pax pulled his shirt on and buttoned. “Put on your dress.”

He turned away from Cliff and hunted through leather jackets for a brown vest. He found one and a matching belt.

He brought it to an unimpressed Cliff, whose six-pack bulged in the yellow long-sleeved sundress. The material fanned out around his hips. It would work well over a pair of leggings.

“Two-sizes too small,” Cliff said with a sigh. “Nothing less than you promised.”

Pax bit down on a smirk and handed him the vest and belt.

Cliff was good enough not to question it. He slipped on whatever Pax passed him. He was looking good. Almost perfect.

He eyed the shelves of wigs behind Cliff and stepped toward them.

His foot tangled, and he tripped.

He fell against Cliff, their chests thumping solidly together.

Cliff steadied him, hands spread at his hips, one finger pressing the skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Pax gripped Cliff at the curve of one shoulder. He looked up at him: his cheeks shaded with day old stubble; the sharp bridge of his nose bare, where his glasses used to sit. What’s the real reason you aren’t wearing them?

His voice crackled. “Whoops, someone dropped a leather jacket on the floor.”

Fingers tightened at his waist, and Cliff raised an eyebrow. “Who’d do such a thing?”

“Who indeed.” Pax grinned. “Idiots.”

With a sound that might have passed as a chuckle, Cliff let go and stepped back.

Pax steadied his balance and kicked a path to the wigs. He picked out a short brown wig with a wide elastic band. Keeping his gaze at Cliff’s forehead, Pax settled the hair in place.

One pair of black leather gloves later, Cliff’s costume was almost complete. “Think you could grow out some scruff?”

Cliff eyed himself and fingered an invisible beard. “Why have you dressed me as Count Rugen from The Princess Bride?”

That segued into things nicely. “Because, like Count Rugen, you experience pleasure from inflicting your will on others.”

There. A glimmer of a real smile. Fleeting, but there.

There would be more this summer. Pax would make sure of it. The idea made his chest double with butterflies—and they fluttered around, excited and . . . nervous.

“I suppose that makes you Inigo Montoya,” Cliff said.

Pax rang out a laugh a pitch higher than his usual. “How’d you figure?”

Cliff beheld him with contemplation. “Your aim is to kill me.”

“Not before the Christmas Costume Carousel.”

I’ll think about it, he’d said.

It was the closest to a yes Cliff had come. At least of his own volition. It wasn’t a firm yes, but Pax still returned home smiling.

He strummed his electric guitar, the air in his bedroom crackling. Music rippled across his skin, but not enough to dissipate the ghosts of Cliff’s touch clinging to his shoulder and hips.

He played harder, faster. Sank himself, body, mind, and soul into a riff that became Beethoven’s Symphony no. 5.

The angel shimmered on the windowsill in the afternoon light shafting into his room. Cliff’s study remained unoccupied, but the music seeped into their house. Had to.

Once he’d jammed himself sweaty, he wrapped up, showered, and then launched himself onto Luca’s bed. He tucked his hands behind his head and listened as Luca babbled in Italian. He wrapped up a call and hung up. “My sister doesn’t believe you live with me.”

“Next time hand the phone over. I’ll flirt with her.”

He laughed. “Definitely better than the T-shirt idea you had. What plans are you cooking? Your eyes sparkle too much.”

Pax rolled onto his side, holding himself up on an elbow. “You’re tutoring Bianca tomorrow.”

An excited, nervous smile. “In the afternoon. So long away.”

“Unless you want it to be the last tutoring session, you’ll need a plan.”

“You are cooking something,” Luca said, smiling wider. “What do I do?”

Pax launched into a plan. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t touch the piano.”

His pocket vibrated to life. Tony? He whipped his Nokia out and answered the unknown number.

A familiar male voice rumbled down the line. Relief and disappointment fought for prominence. “Want to explain yourself?”

Ah, Cliff had seen the poster then.

“Is this your cell number?” Wouldn’t that come in handy.

“How did you sneak into my room?”

“I can’t believe you just figured it out.”

“I had no reason to go to my room any earlier.”

“Why are you going now? Were you off to bed?”

“About to shower.”

Pax moved about Luca’s room, fiddling with the Rubik’s Cubes on his shelves. “Showering before dinner.” He smirked. “Have fun in there.”

A strangled pause. “You’re stonewalling.”

“Teasing, actually. Go slather yourself in gel. I’ll pop around later and tell you all about how I snuck into your room.”

He disconnected before Cliff could say the last word. His face ached from a devilish smile. Pax caught Luca’s thoughtful eye and straightened. “How do you feel about breakfast with Bianca?”

Pax didn’t bother sleeping. What kind of rock star was he if he couldn’t pull an all-nighter?

He drank coffee and played PlayStation until one in the morning when every sane person on this suburban street was tucked in bed.

He filled his duffel bag with a few items and snuck out into the bitingly cold night.

Cliff wanted to know how he’d snuck into his room? He was about to find out.

Pax slung the long strap over his shoulder, positioning the bag at his back, and painfully scaled the trellis. Wood scratched his palms and splinters dug into him. The whole structure buckled twice, but he steadily made his way up.

He was Romeo gone wrong. Wromeo.

Okay, maybe he was a little tired.

He grappled the balcony’s wooden ledge and swung over. He landed with a grunting thump outside the sliding doors, which were still cracked open.

He cleared his throat. Surely Cliff had heard the racket.

A splinter had bored into his hip and it stung. He tried plucking it out with his fingers but couldn’t grasp it.

Gritting against the pain, he opened the sliding door and stepped inside. Moonlight filled the room, outlining the bed and the corkboard above it.

“It’s me,” Pax whispered, loud enough to wake Cliff but not so loud to scare the bejesus out of him, though the idea did tempt a cackle. “The thorn in your side with a thorn in my side.”

A gentle stir.

No response. Was Cliff ignoring him in the hopes Pax would disappear?

Pax waltzed in and stopped next to the bed. He gazed down on Cliff’s impassive face. He appeared younger without the stern gaze. Without the lightly pinched brow. His skin was smooth, jaw unlocked, mouth gently parted—

Oh, fuck. He was still asleep.

So much for minxiness.

This just got creepy.

Pax stepped back. He’d return to the balcony and make a bigger ruckus as forewarning.

The floorboard creaked.

Cliff’s eyes peeled open.

To his credit, he didn’t startle. He rubbed his eyes and stared at Pax.

Clearly the best way forward was to remain calm. He bored his gaze into Cliff. “On a scale of one to ten, how freaky is it that I’m watching you sleep?”

“Fuuuuuuck.” Cliff pulled the pillow from beneath his head and tossed it into Pax’s face.

The warm covering muffled Pax’s laugh.

Cliff peeked at his glow-in-the-dark digital alarm clock. “It’s quarter past one in the morning.”

“I know.” Pax tossed the pillow aside and plopped his bag on Cliff’s blanketed feet. He unzipped and pulled out a packet of salt ’n’ vinegar chips. “I brought breakfast.”

“You’re insane.”

“You called it the first day.”

“Why are you here?”

Why did the sleepy question feel loaded?

“You wanted to know how I snuck into your room.” Pax turned and shoveled up his T-shirt, showcasing the nasty splinter. The skin around it felt tight and tender. “This is how. It’s a splinter, if you can’t see it.”

Cliff’s brows pushed together, somewhat dazedly. “You climbed the trellis?”

“Worth it.” Even if his skin was throbbing now.

Cliff threw the crook of his arm over his eyes. “Go home.”

“Not finished here yet.”

“What more could you possibly have to do at this hour except piss me off?”

“Exactly.”

A tired, exasperated laugh.

Exactly.

“And recon,” Pax said.

Cliff lifted his arm an inch and peered at him. “What?”

“If you’re half asleep, you’ll blabber more. Say things you might not in the conscious light of day.”

“Good Lord, wake me from this nightmare.”

Pax laughed. “Answer my questions and I’ll grant your wish.”

Cliff dropped his arm and shook his head, then sat up and leaned against the headboard. With the flick of the lamp switch, the room turned from silver to warm gold. Pax slid to the dresser and returned to Cliff with his glasses.

Cliff groggily slipped them on, and then froze, looking at him sharply.

“Found your frames, huh?” Pax said in a casual tone, sensing Cliff’s embarrassment.

Cliff rearranged his pillow. “Clearly.”

“You know, glasses suit you.”

“Because I’m all about books?”

No, not only . . . Pax looked at Cliff and away again. “You’re smart and you own it—the way you walk into a room like you’re the smartest person in it, your quick wit—I’m just saying, you could own it on your face, too.”

Cliff studied Pax, probably searching for a sign of mockery, but even if he wanted to fake a laugh, Pax couldn’t.

Pax frowned and scooped up the chip bag so fast his side buckled with pain. He tossed it at Cliff, who caught it before it whacked into his face.

Cliff was not amused, but a dash of something in Cliff’s sleepy eyes lightened the look, making him appear younger and more carefree.

“What are you really doing here?” Cliff asked.

What was he really doing here?

Simple. Keeping Cliff up the rest of the night so that he’d sleep in, giving Luca and Bianca the chance to breakfast together.

Not so simple. Keeping Cliff up the rest of the night so that he might grin and make Pax’s sneaky ways a force for good.

“I’m here to annoy you.”

“Get on with it then. I want to sleep.”

Pax eyed the corkboard again, taking in his pinned picture.

Wait.

His picture was still pinned up there.

“What are you grinning at?” Cliff said, following his gaze. He stilled when his eye latched onto the picture. “You sure have a big ego, don’t you?”

“Proudly. Let me guess. You kept it up so you could . . . vent your frustrations at me?”

Their gazes snagged.

Cliff peeled back the blankets and pushed out of bed. He wore satin boxers and a threadbare shirt that rode up his middle, revealing a dark treasure trail.

Pax swallowed thickly. Kept his eyes pinned on Cliff as he strode across the room and pulled something out from a drawer. He shut it again, a single dart pinched between his fingers.

Cliff positioned himself on the end of his bed. “How thoughtful of you to pin it on my corkboard.”

Bluffing. Cliff had to be bluffing. He wouldn’t—

The dart whizzed through the air and hit Pax’s poster. Right on his famous freckle.

“That was the best part of my face.”

Cliff strode to the poster and plucked the dart free. “I disagree.”

Was Cliff attempting to turn the tables? Riling Pax up so he would leave Cliff alone?

Good try, Cliff. Not going to work.

“Pass the dart here,” Pax said. “If we’re poking holes, I want in on the fun.”

“Nope.” Cliff returned the dart to his drawer.

Pax cut over to him. He leaned against the dresser and hopped away in pain. “I thought we were playing?”

“I don’t play, remember? Sit on the bed. Take off your shirt.”

“Getting down to business, then.”

Cliff shook his head and ducked out of the room. He returned moments later with a first aid kit and a pair of tweezers.

Pax squeezed his balled T-shirt between his legs. Cliff fell to his knees in front of him, and Pax’s voice jerked an octave. “Pass the tweezers.”

Cliff handed them over, but Pax’s fingers shook too much to pull the splinter out. Hands ridiculously clammy, he scowled and gave up. “Fine. Have fun poking more holes in me.”

Cliff took the T-shirt from between Pax’s legs and tossed it aside. He braced a palm on the inside of his knee and pushed his legs open, shuffling forward until warm breath skittered over his lower stomach.

“About the Christmas party . . . I bought your costume. It’s in that bag. Bianca would love to go.” Fingers danced over the tender skin surrounding the splinter. “Make it a firm yes.”

Tweezers bit at his skin. Cliff said, “You’d do anything to get us there, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything,” he yipped as the splinter weaseled out. “Name it.”

A tiny line of blood dribbled over his hip. Cliff pressed gauze over the wound and taped Pax up with gentle prods.

Pax bit his lip, then shoved Cliff away from him. He leaped to his feet and tugged his shirt on, keeping his back to Cliff. He needed a moment.

Shrew. Shrew. Shrew. Darted his face.

He glared at Cliff’s framed honors degree. “This is the difference between us right here. You put your degree behind glass for all to see. Mine is in a box somewhere collecting dust.”

Movement preceded the squeak of a mattress. Cliff had crawled back into bed. Pax turned around to find incredulous eyes on him.

“You have a degree?”

“I know. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Cliff frowned. “We’re the same age. We must have done our undergraduate at the same time—”

“I don’t look my age. Not even close. I get carded every time I buy beer.” Pax moved to the television, grinning hard. “You looked me up.”

Cliff ignored him, gaze drifting to the shelves. “I didn’t ever see you around.”

Pax shrugged. “Big campus. Plus, you know, I hardly turned up to lectures.”

A dry laugh. “Of course.”

Pax knelt and opened the video cabinet. Two rows of videos. “Alphabetized. Of course.”

“If you’re done analyzing me, can you leave?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. Search my room to your heart’s content. I’m sleeping.”

Hold up. That couldn’t happen. “I have a better idea.”

“Better than sleeping at one thirty in the morning?”

Pax held up The Princess Bride. “So we can see Count Rugen and Inigo Montoya in action.”

“That belongs to my sister.”

“Sure, it does. All I Want for Christmas too, huh? Prop me a pillow next to you. We’re watching the videos.”

“Both? We’ll be up all night.”

“Snap open those chips, baby.”

Cliff tossed the salt ’n’ vinegar chip packet across the room. “No crumbs in my bed.”

An hour and a half later, they were sitting in bed, blankets pulled up to their waists, pillows jammed between them and the headboard. The Princess Bride was much cooler than either of them would admit, especially the part where Inigo beat Count Rugen. Pax smirked, and Cliff rolled his eyes and slapped the back of his head.

Pax ignored Cliff’s pleas and crunched into chips. The subsequent crumbs on his side of the bed shrank the two feet of space they’d left between them.

That and the heavy rolling weight of sleepiness. They’d already yawned their way through the end of The Princess Bride.

Pax zombied to the video player and exchanged films. They’d switched off the lamp and in the sudden darkness before the movie started, Pax stumbled toward the bed. He hit the nightstand with a nice bash to his knee. Something softly thumped to the carpet.

Light burst from the TV screen and Pax picked up the fallen photo. A thick lump lodged in his throat.

Cliff’s head lay back against the headboard, eyes shut.

Pax set the photo down as it had been when he’d seen it yesterday and crawled back into bed. He slid next to Cliff. Close.

Cliff stirred and opened one eye, peering at him. Maybe because their arms were practically touching and the hairs on his legs where Pax’s shorts ended were trying to fuse with Cliff’s.

“Crumbs.”

Cliff shut his eyes again and vibrated with a low hum.

Pax elbowed him mid-yawn. “Eyes on the screen. This movie’s important.”

A sleepy snort. “It is?”

“It’s All I Want for Christmas.”

Despite his resolution to stay awake, Pax lurched sideways halfway through the movie, body begging for sleep.

Cliff slumped too, and Pax gently shoved him to keep him awake.

Near the end of the movie, Cliff sank toward him, and Pax sank back, upper arms pressing together. Warm and stable.

The curve of his shoulder fit snug at his neck.

The images on screen blurred, and breath whispered through his hair.

Funny how comfortable the shrew could be . . .

Should he be making a deal about cozying up like this? Could he claim it was part of the friending process? Maybe he should worry about it in the morning.

He yawned, and Cliff shuffled deeper into the bed, taking Pax with him. Albeit awkwardly. His face rolled over Cliff’s pec.

His voice sounded husky. Lips pressed against the outline of a hard nipple. “I should go.”

“You made me watch these movies, you’ll stay to the end,” Cliff murmured, his arm around Pax’s neck, soft, cushioning.

Pax’s eyelids drooped. “Saying I brought this situation upon myself?”

“Yes.”

“If I don’t leave now . . .”

“You made your bed, now lie in it.”

That struck Pax as funny and he chuckled against Cliff’s chest. “You should shove me off you. I drool.”

“Drool too.”

Another yawn. “Yeah, but you’re a big red dog, Clifford. I expect it of you.”

“Mmm, and I bite as loud as I bark.”

“That a warning?”

“No, Apollo.” Cliff sank into the blankets, curling an arm around Pax and pulling him more comfortably against him. “A promise.”

Cliff held Pax against him every time he shifted. At one point, as the credits rolled, Pax woke, face pressed into Cliff’s armpit, arm draped over a hard stomach, leg half slung over Cliff’s. He startled, and Cliff mumbled at him not to move, clutching him tightly.

The gentle rise and fall of Cliff’s light breathing lulled Pax back to sleep.

If the Shrew could sleep, so could he.

An alarm bleated, and Pax scrambled sleepily to silence the noise. He squirmed over something hard and warm, his body blanketing Cliff before he fuzzily remembered where he was.

He draped himself around Cliff as he bashed the buttons of the alarm clock with a fist.

A laugh rumbled under him, but it was too early for any of that. He shushed Cliff with a lazy hand over his mouth as he rolled back onto his side of the bed. Breath made his fingers dewy, but he didn’t care. Sleep called to his bones.

Cliff shifted, and cool air danced under the sheets.

Pax shivered, and then warmth cloaked him, a tailor-made fit from neck to knees. He fell back asleep.