“That was one test.”

“And you got a D on it, Shaw. A 63%.”

“Ok, but, I just didn’t study. And anyway, you were the one who kept pronouncing Goethe go-eeth-ee.”

“Oh,” North said in a low voice. “Keep paddling.”

“It was so embarrassing. Dr. Augustina kept staring at you, trying to correct you, but you wouldn’t stop talking about Go-eeth-ee.”

“Keep the fuck paddling.”

“It was kind of cute,” Shaw said. “I talked to her about it later. I told her all about your history. She completely understood then; we talked about it and we agreed it was really kind of cute.”

North felt his jaw drop. “You talked to her about my . . . history?”

Shaw swooped in, kissed the side of North’s neck, and broke into a run, laughing as he pulled ahead. North watched him go, fighting another smile, thinking of just exactly how he was going to put Shaw Aldrich back in his fucking britches. It wasn’t exactly a thing of beauty, watching him run; Shaw’s thin frame moved with a lot of flapping arms and at an uneven, loping stride. But it didn’t matter. Shaw could get himself caught in a mousetrap and somehow he’d make it so fucking endearing that North’s heart would probably explode.

When North reached the lake house, an idea was beginning to form—the little shit wanted to pretend North had never seen grass before, and North had an idea about that—but North forgot his plan when his eyes adjusted to the house’s cool shadows. Quentin lay on the floor, his face bruised and bloodied, his paisley dressing gown ripped down the front; Shaw knelt next to him, cleaning the blood with a wet cloth.

“Donovan paid him a visit,” Shaw said.

6

HE WANTS THE BUSINESS,” Quentin said when they finally cleaned him up and got him calmed enough to talk. “Löwchen.”

“Is that one of those noodle places on south Grand?” North said.

Shaw elbowed him. “It’s a dog.”

“This is really about the dog?” North said.

Nodding, Shaw said, “Löwchen are some of the most expensive dogs in the world if you acquire them from a breeder. They’re companion dogs. My mom and dad had one.”

“Of course they did,” North said.

Shaw blushed and shrugged.

“Are they big dogs?” North said.

“No,” Quentin said, his hands picking restlessly at the dressing gown. “They’re classified as toy dogs by some organizations. But they’re quite intelligent. And very trainable. And of course, they’re absolutely committed. So loyal and loving. You couldn’t ask for a better companion.”

“Do they try to be wiseacres all the time?” North said.

“What?”

“Ignore him,” Shaw said.

“Do they try to be smart?” North asked.

“He’s working through some of his own issues,” Shaw said.

“Even though they were the ones who got a 63% on the poetic devices test?”