“No, they’re two cars. In a two-car garage.”

“Right.”

“Gross. Whatever you think it means, you’re gross.”

North brought up the weight again, focusing on the form, trying to keep the curl clean. In spite of the October chill invading the garage, he wore only a sleeveless tee, joggers, and wool socks. He did another curl, and he could feel a little pop coming into his arms. A little swell.

“Hey,” North said, “you’re the one who won’t stop talking about it.”

A beat passed, and Shaw didn’t say anything. In the middle of the next curl, North glanced over.

Shaw’s eyes were huge and glassy, and color flooded his face. He yanked on the Teddy Ruxpin sweatshirt’s collar. “Uh.”

“Yes?” North did another curl. Slower, this time.

“What were you saying?”

“You’re the one who won’t stop talking about the two cars in a two-car garage.” North picked up the other thirty-pound dumbbell.

“Uh huh. Two cars.”

“You were making it sound really sexual.”

A shiver ran through Shaw like a cat stretching, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes doped out. “Right. Sexual.”

The tiny running shorts weren’t hiding a damn thing on Shaw, and North let himself enjoy the show for another minute. Then, racking the weights, he said, “I need you to spot me.”

“Huh?”

“Will you spot me?” North jerked his head toward the bench.

“I don’t know—I haven’t done that before.”

“It’s easy. Just don’t let the bar fall and crush my throat.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shaw.”

“Yeah.”

North peeled off the sleeveless tee and raised an eyebrow. “Right now would be good.”

“Right,” Shaw said, shambling toward the back of the bench, trying unsuccessfully to peel his gaze away from North.

North loaded a few plates onto the bar, attached the collar to keep the plates from sliding off, and settled onto the bench. He lay back and found himself staring up at exactly what the running shorts weren’t hiding. Shaw’s breathing had a little hiccup at the end that made North think, again, that this was one more reason he loved being with Shaw. Nothing was ever old. Nothing was ever boring. Every look, every glance, every touch was new. It made him love Shaw even more—not that he was going to break the spell and tell him right that moment.

“Your shoulder,” Shaw said.

“The physical therapist said I could start with light weights.”

“This doesn’t look light.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I meant—”

“I know, Shaw. I’ll go slow. You just spot me.”

North reached up, caught the bar, the textured metal familiar under his hands. He smelled the steel, his sweat. He hadn’t touched a weight since before getting hurt, and now, in spite of what he’d said to Shaw, he felt a flicker of apprehension.