“Yes?”

“I’m trying to read.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

North grunted, his fingers stroking lightly over Shaw’s chest and stomach.

Shaw flipped channels again, back to QVC, and now a man was pretending to try on the earrings. He had a huge grin of perfectly capped teeth, and he could have been any age between forty and sixty, his skin the orange-bronze of an artificial tan. He thought the earrings were just so damn funny, and now the pickaxe blonde thought they were funny too. They were laughing so hard they were almost falling over, which was a real risk for the blonde, even if she didn’t seem to realize it.

“Maybe I should get my ears pierced,” Shaw said.

North sighed as pages scraped against each other.

“What do you think, North? Do you think I’d look good with my ears pierced?”

Another, louder sigh.

“Maybe we could do that on Saturday. We can go to one of those kiosks in the mall, and you can hold the ice so that my ear’s numb, and I’ll squeeze your hand right when they—”

Shaw found he couldn’t finish because North’s hand was wrapped around his jaw, covering his mouth.

“Mmmm,” Shaw said.

“I know, sweetheart,” North said.

“Mmmm. Mmmm.”

North ran his thumb over Shaw’s cheek and turned another page.

Shaw peeled back North’s fingers and whispered, “I’ll be quiet.”

North made a sound that could only be called skeptical.

Shaw tried to focus on QVC, but now the guy with capped teeth was showing off waffle makers, and it only made Shaw hungry. He flipped back to 90 Day Fiancé, but they were on commercial. Shaw laid his head back on the sofa cushion, the crown of his head against North’s thigh, his skin bare where the running shorts rode up. His leg was warm.

Reaching back, Shaw traced North’s knee. He ran his fingers up North’s leg, through the thick blond hair that tickled his palm, until he brushed the nylon hem and the running shorts gave a crisp rustle. Another page turned. Shaw let his hand slide down to North’s knee. Then back up. Back down. Up again. Never past the running shorts, never slipping up under the nylon. Until North raised his hips, shifted his weight, and the sofa springs boinged.

Then Shaw slid his hand up under the nylon, and North whispered, “Fuck.” His hand wrapped around Shaw’s wrist, not stopping him, but guiding him, and then he whispered again, “Fuck.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” Shaw said.

North’s rough breathing was the only answer. Shaw turned onto his knees, facing North now. Watching North, Shaw grinned as the blond man tried to turn a page, tried to pretend to read as Shaw’s hand moved up and down.