North wouldn’t have admitted it, especially not to Shaw, but he kind of liked the little white rat-dog. It was cute. And so he just scrubbed at the doggie spit and said, “He could teach Shaw a thing or two.”

Eventually, they got Quentin out of the lake house, and then it was just the two of them. North plucked at his dripping clothes and the wet trail he had left back and forth across the house and said, “I hope I didn’t ruin the floor.”

Shaw shrugged and then wrapped North in a hug, laying his head against North’s chest; heat bloomed there like a firework. “They can afford to replace it.”

North returned the hug, closing his eyes, resting his chin on Shaw’s head. The spiky musk of Shaw’s hair product mixed with the smell of the lake. Closing his eyes, North tried to will away the ghosts of those eighteen-year-old boys, as though Tucker and Percy and all the other Chouteau bros had never been here. As if it had always just been North and Shaw, the two of them, and North had never managed to fuck up his life by losing eight years with the man he loved.

“You were very brave today,” Shaw said, the words muffled by North’s wet shirt.

North laughed and massaged the nape of Shaw’s neck.

Moaning, Shaw said, “Keep that up, and I’m going to get distracted.”

North adjusted his knee between Shaw’s legs. “You feel a little distracted to me already.”

With another moan, Shaw turned his head up, his hazel eyes shot wide with desire. “You owe me the rest of that kiss.”

Smirking, North bent down, his lips not quite touching Shaw’s, and said, “I owe you? That’s not a very nice way to ask. I thought we talked about this. I thought I told you you were so good at asking nicely.”

“Yeah, but this time you owe me. I found the dog, and you said—”

“Hold on,” North said, pulling away. “You found the dog?”

“Yeah, we were walking up to the cabin, and I pointed—”

“No. No way. I found the dog. Donovan brought it outside, and I said, ‘Brickle.’ That means I found him.”

“I knew it was Brickle. I was pointing at the house; I was telling you they were inside.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I was telling you nonverbally.”

“For all I fucking knew, you were practicing one of your moves from that modern dance class you’ve been taking. How was I supposed to know you were telling me a dog named Brickle was inside that house?”

“That reminds me,” Shaw said. “My recital is next weekend. I got tickets for you and for Pari and my parents, and I bought you some tights because they have this after-the-show audience involvement thing, and I thought maybe you’d want to do some of the dancing—”