Chapter 4

“Thanks,” Shane said.

Luke snorted, switching off the TV on top of his chest-of-drawers and wriggling into a pair of jogging bottoms. He ignored underwear, because Luke was the kind of guy to lounge around naked if he could, and Shane scowled at the provocation.

“You’re a dick,” he said, the moment gone, and Luke laughed.

“That would be your job,” he said, kissing Shane quickly again before pulling a t-shirt over his head and hauling the bedside table away from the door. He had no lock on it, and a younger sister made for leaving it only closed a bad idea.

“Shane!”

“Right on time,” Luke said, and caught Shane by the shoulder for their traditional one last kiss—a deep and plundering thing, but short, cut off with haste and promise, and leaving always room for a little more. Luke had once called it his way of keeping Shane coming back. Shane called it sadism. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

“Shane! Your father’s here!”

“We’re coming, Anna, God!” Luke yelled back, and Shane winced.