“Um.”

“You dog. You did. Christ, once a decade. Wait until I tell Tuck, he won’t believe—”

“Not exactly.”

For a moment, the only noise was the ancient refrigerator’s glug-glug as the fan tried to spin. “Shaw, Tucker and I spent a lot of time convincing Hank—”

“Hank,” Shaw breathed. Not Harold. Definitely not Harry. Or Henry.

North frowned. “—convincing Hank that he should give dating a try. His husband died six months ago. He’s still pretty fragile. Don’t tell me this was another typical Shaw date.”

That mental image came back to Shaw: standing on the outside steps, sputtering like he was about to boil over. Shaw let his gaze drop to the massive boots.

“Aw, fuck.” North let go of the door, and Shaw slithered out, massaging his chest. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s ok. It just wasn’t the right fit. We didn’t click.”

North seemed to consider this for a moment. “Was he an asshole? Because he’s really Tuck’s friend, and I don’t know him that well. If we set you up with an asshole—”

“No, no. He seemed great.”

No expression on North’s face. He was good at that sometimes, that blankness. But Shaw could read the question in the air between them: Great, but . . . ?

“Hey.” North slapped Shaw’s shoulder. “He’s just some jerk-off lawyer, right? Definitely not good enough for you.”

“He’s got a pulse. He’s got a job. He walks and talks.”

“Yeah, but you need somebody smart.”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Legitimately smart.”

“He’s a Harvard-trained lawyer.”

“But like, about books.”

Shaw nodded. In his experience, that was the best way to end this kind of conversation.

“And smoking hot.”

“Of course.”

“And rich.”

Shaw managed a smile. “I won’t stay pretty forever.”

“And he can’t eat dairy.”

I wouldn’t mind, thought Shaw as he met North’s snowfall-blue eyes for a dangerous heartbeat. Not even if he wanted a wheel of smoked cheddar the size of his head.

“There’s Regina. She’s always trying to get into your pants.”

“Not Regina.”

“I think Tony could be actually pretty cool. He only gets bitchy when he’s in character as Regina Rex.”

Shaw sighed. “Definitely not Regina. Or Tony. Neither of them.”

“All right. There’s this guy at Left Bank Books who is always drooling over you,” North said. “Next time we go there, I’m going to—”

The bell on the front door jangled, and North and Shaw shared a shocked look.

Borealis Investigations might have a client again.

Chapter 2

North strode the length of the kitchen. Shaw was doing something with the sink, and North left him behind. Walk with purpose, he told himself. Walk with force. Walk with speed, like you’re on a job site and somebody’s about to drop an I-beam. But not too fast.

North wished he didn’t feel so desperate. About the prospect of a client, sure—the way his heart jumped, fucking leaped, when the bell rang. The way he was practically scurrying toward the front office. But about Shaw too. And the desperation about Shaw didn’t have an easy name or shape to it. It was just there, eating away at North. If Shaw could just hook up with somebody. If Shaw could just get boned. Like, crazy boned. The kind that would leave Shaw crawling for a week. That was the only part of it that North could articulate to himself. If Shaw could just hook up with anybody. But North scratched out that last part. He wasn’t quite that desperate for Shaw, not for just anybody. Not yet.