Lars crosses those Christmas ham arms and leans against the desk next to St. Clare. They both stare down at me, and it’s like one of those dreams where you’re naked and the bullies loom over you and laugh, pointing at your thing. “Would you both be more comfortable seated?” I suggest.

“I’m good where I am,” Lars says.

“Are you really good, or are you only good because I’m the one who suggested sitting, and now you want to be stubborn and disagree? Because I promise I won’t think less of you.”

They exchange a look again.

“Listen, I have no clue what those looks mean, so you’re going to have to use words around me.”

“They mean we think you have issues.”

“They mean we don’t know what the hell to think of you,” St. Clare corrects.

I’d throw my hands up if they weren’t cuffed behind my back. “See, even you two don’t know what they mean. That’s going to lead to some serious miscommunication issues.”

“He was trying to be nice,” Lars tells me, leveling a look St. Clare’s way. “Because apparently, my best friend has issues as well.”

“Best friend?” I look between them. “Sorry, I thought you were …”

“Thought we were what?”

“Well, I sort of got the impression St. Clare’s … and then you’re all protective of him …”

St. Clare’s jaw drops. “You thought we were together?”

“Little bit.”

“Lars is straight.” Then he runs those striking blue eyes over me. “And I’m single.”

Well. Okay. That’s now information that I know. And definitely don’t need. “Right. Very good. Thank you.”

He quirks an eyebrow my way, and I almost swallow my tongue. They’re both still standing over me, and I’m not hating it as much anymore.

“Uh, should we circle back to my plan?”

“Your plan.”

“To join forces.”

Lars snorts. “Why does it sound like you’re calling yourself a superhero?”

“Well, I did⁠—”

“No.” St. Clare’s grinning. “We’re not going over all that again. Stay focused. You want us to trust you to team up and figure out who’s after us, but how the hell do we take you at your word that you won’t kill us in our sleep?”

“I’m a trustworthy guy.”

“You just told me your mouth lies.”

“Only when it comes to compliments!”

Lars squints one eye up as he rubs at his short beard. “So you think the same people are after you both?”

“Yep. I maybe sorta claimed that St. Clare was dead and took the payday, and since someone broke our pact, they’ve obviously discovered that he’s very much alive and I’m very much a liar.”

“And there you bring us back to the not-trusting-you thing,” St. Clare says.

Okay so I can maybe see why he doesn’t believe me.