“Please don’t tell him, Shaw. Please.” Tucker took two huge strides, his hands clutching at Shaw’s shoulders—not angrily, but desperately. “Please, he’s already mad at me about last night, and if he knows I . . . I went ballistic-level jealous, he’ll be so pissed. If he knows I came down here, if he knows I asked you, please, he’ll kill me.”

“I think he should know that you guys have some issues to work out—”

“Shaw,” Tucker moaned.

“—but it’s not my place to be the one to tell him. I told you: I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“So you won’t?”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Shaw. God, you have no idea how much better I feel.” Tucker gathered himself, moved toward the door, and then glanced back. “Are we cool, Shaw? You and I? Because we never talked about, well, about how North and I—I mean, I don’t know if I’m supposed to say I’m sorry or something.”

“It was a crush, Tuck. It’s not like you stole my boyfriend. And you guys are great together. I’m glad you make North happy.”

Tuck gave one of those waspy, orthodontically perfect smiles. “I hope I do.”

“I know you do.”

“Thanks. Oh, and how did the date go with Hank? I was going to call him—”

“Good, good, good. Really good. Listen, my client’s waiting out there, so I’d better—”

“Right. Thanks, Shaw.”

And with that, Tucker was gone. A moment passed, and Matty poked his head through the doorway.

“Come on in,” Shaw said. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s ok. I kind of calmed down, and I think—I don’t know. I guess I don’t know why I came here.”

“If you say you saw those guys following you, I don’t want to ignore that. Were they cops?”

Matty rolled his shoulders and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of the sagging cardigan. “I did see them. I know I did. But I don’t know who they are. They didn’t look like any cops I’d ever seen. It’s not like I can hide out in here forever, and—” He cast a glance at the darkening windows. “And I guess maybe I should go buy a can of pepper spray or something before going home.”

Shaw chewed the inside of his lip. Adrenaline was running out of him, leaving him exhausted and nauseated and feeling like he was twenty-one again and having his best friend shatter his heart with a sledgehammer. But the thing was, the honest truth was, that even after that night on the Sigma Sigma roof when Shaw had heard Tucker ask, “God, please tell me you haven’t been out there blowing Shaw,” even after he had heard North’s dry laugh and his answer, “He’s sweet, but a little too soy boy for me,” even after he had rolled onto his knees and peered through the window and seen Tucker advance, take North around the waist, and say, “Good, because I’ve been thinking about you for four years,” even after the kiss, even after watching the two of them suck face, he still hadn’t been able to get past North. And here he was, twenty-six years old and still hung up on a boy from freshman year of college.