“Okay,” said Elliott. “But putting aside whether or not they’re ‘cool,’ I think we can both agree that bow ties are objectively goofy.”

Elliott adjusted the one he was wearing—stupid dress code—then gave up on trying to make it sit nicely and flopped onto the end of Aiden’s bed on his back. “It might be a tiny bit more comfortable—and that’s entirely debatable—but I can’t think of a single person who doesn’t look three times more stupid with a damn bow tie. The Cat in the Hat wears one, for god’s sake. How is something supposed to be fancy on a human being when a giant cartoon cat wears it?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Elliott,” Aiden’s voice floated out from the attached bathroom. “I don’t disagree with you.”

“I know, you’re the worst.” Elliott slapped both his hands down on the covers and wiggled miserably, wrinkling his dress shirt. “I’m bored and I want a debate, but you’re Switzerland on everything I can think of today.”

“How tragic for you. That’s probably because all the things you keep having opinions on are about fashion.” Aiden said it like anyone else would say sewage. “You know I don’t give a rat’s ass about that stuff.”

“Yeah, talk about tragic. Monday to Friday, you look like you walked off the pages of GQ, but if your assistant didn’t pick your outfits for you, you’d be like a human resources nightmare in a blazer with a turtleneck underneath.”

There was a long pause, in which Elliott was treated to a vivid picture of the monstrous image he’d just created.

“I don’t think I even own a turtleneck.” Aiden’s confused frown read from across the room where Elliott couldn’t see him.

“Praise Jesus.”

“Well, I don’t care as much as you seem to about bow ties, so how about you tie mine for me?”

Elliott groaned but sat up on the bed, then nearly swallowed his own tongue when Aiden strolled out of the bathroom dressed in black tuxedo pants, a white shirt undone at the neck, the bow tie loose and hanging at his collarbones, and a pair of thin black suspenders instead of a belt.

“Holy god, you look like a stripper,” Elliott blurted.

Aiden stopped and glanced down at himself, then raised an eyebrow at him.

“No, I just mean, you . . .” Elliott faltered, then shook his head. “No, you actually look like you’re about to ask which one of us is the birthday girl and start taking those things off.”

Suspenders. Elliott had forgotten Aiden might be wearing them. He was suddenly short of breath, all because of a couple of stretchy black strips that did amazing things for Aiden’s pecs, framing everything just right—

“Carol dropped the suit off this morning,” Aiden said, stiltedly, interrupting Elliott’s daydreaming. “I could wear something else? If you think I should, I mean. I probably have—”

Elliott choked again. “No! God, no. It’s great.”

“Okay?”

Elliott ran his hands down his thighs, then stood. Aiden dutifully held still while Elliott took the ends of the bow tie in his fingers, but Elliott didn’t fold it up. He rubbed the fine material between his fingertips, then stared up at Aiden, trying to telegraph all the things he’d like to do to him that would feel even better than the expensive silk against skin.

Aiden got the message. “Elliott,” he said, frowning a warning.

“Hmm?”

“No.”

“But why?” Elliott whined. He ran his finger down the center of Aiden’s chest, next to the line of black studs that kept the shirt closed. When he reached the bottom, he hooked his thumbs under those suspenders and followed them all the way back up, loving the burn of the rough elastic. Aiden covered his hands before Elliott could push the straps right off his shoulders, though.

“Elliott, we can’t. Our chariot awaits.”

He hummed, moving his fingers under Aiden’s, testing the give. “Did you know that expression is Welsh? Not Roman or anything. And most chariot racers were teenagers. They had to be small to—”

“Interesting, but you’re stalling. The Uber is going to be here in twenty minutes.”

“Thirty.”

Aiden checked his watch. “I ordered it for 6:15.”

“I know, I saw.” Elliott crowded in, breathing in the spicy scent of Aiden’s aftershave. “But it’s Glenn, and I’ve driven with him before. The man knows his way around the neighborhood, but he’s always ten minutes late.”

Aiden opened his mouth, but Elliott cut off his response by planting a kiss on his lips, taking it long and slow before pulling away. His puppy-dog eyes tended to make him look like he was guilty of mischief rather than innocent and deserving a reward, but today, they did the trick. Aiden sighed, but Elliott had already seen the smile tugging at his lips, and he wasn’t imagining the way Aiden’s eyes dipped to Elliott’s lips.

“Fine,” Aiden said. “We’d better make those ten minutes count.”

Elliott whooped, then used Aiden’s shoulders and a flying leap to launch himself into his arms, wrapping his legs around Aiden’s hips. Aiden caught him, of course, then laughed as he carried him over to the bed, wrinkling their clothes even more.

They were out on the curb with five minutes to spare, their tuxedos straightened as much as they could manage. Elliott was smug. Aiden was dazed and delicious with his bow tie tight at his neck.

The event was one of the better ones Elliott had been to. The hall was full, but not overheated, so he wasn’t sweating in his rented tux. And the cause of the day was underprivileged children, which Elliott could definitely get behind.

Not as many people recognized him as he’d feared. As arm candy for Innes, he’d been essentially invisible, not important enough for rich, busy people to remember after the first introduction. Or third, or fifth.

One lady who he remembered as an entertaining old bat made eye contact with him and raised a thinly penciled brow at Aiden. Elliott smirked back. I’ve upgraded, he thought, and he was pretty sure she approved. She used to call Innes Ian all the time, pretending she was too senile to remember his real name, which had been incredibly aggravating for Innes and immensely amusing for Elliott.

Another few people might have remembered him, but saying anything would involve acknowledging his presence, so that would never happen. That meant Elliott was pretty much left to his own devices, at least until dinner started. The cocktail bar was wasted on him while he was working, so he stuck close to Aiden rather than mingling on his own, since there wasn’t anyone else he’d rather talk to.

Not to mention, it felt as if a step out of Aiden’s reach would bring a wall of disapproval and dirty looks.

Aiden was different here. Elliott had almost forgotten about the unapproachable facade Aiden assumed when he was working—the cool demeanor that had convinced Elliott that he was a stuck-up, humorless prude, when he was really anything but. Elliott, too, was different here, which surprised him.

He was finding it difficult to slip into the Vapid Arm Candy role that he’d always played so well, because he hadn’t been playing it with Aiden. When a colleague of Aiden’s jeered something casually misogynistic, he almost jumped down the asshole’s throat. The only thing that stopped him was the way Aiden’s jaw visibly worked, clearly holding back a scathing comeback. If Aiden could keep his mouth shut, Elliott could too, even if it nearly killed him.

In the brief moments that they were alone, between the lackluster greetings and obvious attempts at networking, they didn’t mesh as well as they usually did. There was a distance, physical and otherwise, that insinuated itself between them.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured to Aiden when boredom and jitters teamed up to make it impossible for him to stand still.

He didn’t wait for a response, weaving through the glittering throng to the nearest restroom, and not because he’d had more than a couple of sips of liquid all night. It was some place to exist, to do something in silence without having to come up with a reply that was the right mix of uncomprehending interest.

After checking every social media he had, as well as his banking app—twice—he stared in the mirror as the water splashed on his wrists until a few people had come and gone and he wondered if Aiden might be missing him.

Back through the crowd he went, and as he got to where he’d started, he noticed that the group they’d been talking to had moved on. Aiden was now stuck talking to someone who looked far more like Innes Jr. than Aiden ever would.

“I just wouldn’t have thought it of you,” the man said, loud enough to be heard from almost ten feet away.

“Thought what?” Aiden’s voice was tight, and his hand was white on his glass.

“That you’d bring along a boy toy. Seems a little graceless. Is he even legal?”

From this angle, Elliott saw how red the back of Aiden’s neck was getting, but no retort came to defend himself or Elliott.

“I am, actually,” Elliott said, stepping up behind Aiden’s shoulder. This close, he could feel Aiden’s tension, and could find the words to defend them both while Aiden couldn’t. “Graduated from the kiddie table a few years ago.”

“Well, good for you.” The man’s tone was sickly sweet and his smile playing at friendly charm as he slapped Aiden’s arm. “And does Kent make you sit on his lap?”

“Nope. But I sit on his dick all by myself.”

Next to him, Aiden choked into his flute of champagne.

“Jesus,” their new friend said, his face contorted in disbelief.

“Oh, sorry. Was that a little too much info? I’ve been told I’m lacking grace.”

The guy shook his head as he left, shooting a look at Aiden that was probably aiming for incredulous sympathy, but passed the mark right into pity. Elliott watched him go, making the defiant eye contact that Aiden seemed unable to do.

They hadn’t won anything with that short battle. He might even have shot himself in the foot if Aiden had been holding back for some other reason than his obvious discomfort over Elliott’s age, and other people’s reactions to it.

But at least that asshole had been scared away.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help it.”

Aiden drained his drink, then shook his head. “No worries, honestly. I hate that guy, and I should have—” He broke off, fidgeting with the stem of his glass. “Do you want to get out of here for a minute?”

“God, yes. Any suggestions?”

“I know a place. Come on.”

The raised terrace was like something out of a cheesy romance novel where the billionaire sweeps the office worker off their feet in an emotionally abusive whirlwind. It was beautiful, all marble and weathered iron and a tropically inspired garden.

“Are you angry with me?” Elliott asked as soon as they left the doors behind, then wished he could take it back. Hadn’t Aiden already said it was fine? Wasn’t Elliott perfectly within his rights to defend himself against some stranger who had a problem with him?

“No,” Aiden said. A hollow click announced the champagne flute’s abandonment. “Seriously. I’m only sorry I froze. It made him feel like he was right.”

An unsettled part of Elliott calmed. Yes, Aiden had panicked about the age thing, but he knew he had, and he wasn’t going to fire Elliott for fighting back.

“It’s fine,” Elliott said. “At the very least, we’ve put an image in his head that won’t go away anytime soon.”

They shared a short laugh, then blessed quiet fell.

Elliott leaned against the railing, breathing through his weariness. He had a long way to go before this night was over, and the effort of pretending to be an inanimate object again was draining him too soon.

The cool air whipped away the nagging voice at the back of his mind that whispered that they all knew he was more than Aiden’s friend and that they thought he was lower than the dirt on their shoes.

The weight of it was heavier than he remembered.

Even the most staunch advocate of normalizing sex work would undoubtedly have bad days where they felt dirty or unlovable. Self-acceptance was a battle that never ended, not a permanent state of enlightenment.

In twenty years, when he had the tenure he dreamed of, he’d probably still be reminding himself that selling sex didn’t make him a bad person. It just made him resourceful, and willing to work hard for the people he loved.

Purposefully, he let his fingers relax on the railing, pulling himself out of his low moment with a forceful tug. Dinner would be better, with fewer people to be ignored by or jeered at, and the pleasant distraction of food.

“You okay?” Aiden had also braced himself on the railing. There was no lamp on the terrace, but enough light spilled from inside that Elliott could see the deep line of concern etched between Aiden’s brows, replacing the stony poker face.

Elliott looked his fill, since Aiden would get his mask back in place as soon as they crossed the threshold again.

“Yeah,” Elliott said. Aiden didn’t seem convinced. “It’s just been a long time. You know.”

Aiden winced. “I really didn’t want to have to drag you to something like this. If you want to leave—”

Elliott chuckled, feeling lighter already. “Dude, no, I’m fine. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t okay with it. Don’t worry about me.”

“All right.” Aiden stared into his eyes longer than was socially acceptable, then moved his hand so that it bumped up against Elliott’s on the railing, hot as a lamp left on too long. “But tell me if you change your mind. Honestly, I’m searching for a reason to leave.”

“And not buy more raffle tickets for the children in need?” Elliott said. “Shame, Aiden. Ultimate shame.”

Aiden rolled his eyes at him. “I’m already a gold-level donor. I think I’ve done my part for this year.”

Elliott’s hand slipped off the railing, and he barely caught himself before hitting the metal with his face. “Gold level?”

Elliott had read every name on the donor list—noting how few chose to remain anonymous—less than half an hour ago because he’d been bored of the conversation, and he remembered how many zeros were attached to the gold status.

Aiden shrugged like it was no big deal that he’d dropped that kind of money on a charity Elliott had never even heard of before today. “I like this group. They do good work.”

“Yeah?” It came out as a breathy squeak.

Aiden’s sudden smile lit up the terrace far better than any of the lights. “They’re starting a reading program, sending storybooks to families who can’t afford to buy them. It’s great, and I think it’ll be a big hit, if they have the money to advertise to people who need it.”

Aiden had never spoken much about his charitable habits before, other than reminders of the football games he’d rescheduled a couple of dates for, but once he started, he opened like a busted dam. With Elliott as a willing audience, he outlined budget structures, mission statements, and long-term goals until he ran out and sputtered to a stop.

The only emotion that seemed to penetrate Elliott’s shock was a frothy delight at Aiden’s excitement about the project. “Wow.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to go on and on.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Now I understand how Kevin must feel when I get emotional about the lost Temple of Artemis.” A burst of laughter from inside was almost perfectly timed with Aiden’s soft chuckle. “He might never totally get it, but he loves me, so he listens anyway, and makes all the right noises.”

It was only when their rhythm lapsed that he realized what he’d said—what he’d implied. His first instinct was to open his big mouth and explain that he hadn’t meant it like that, but he tamped it down. Obviously, Aiden knew what he’d intended to convey.

“So, yeah.” Aiden’s hand went to his bow tie, tugging it away from his neck. “They’re a fantastic organization. Gold level is the least I can do.”

“Still.” Elliott’s toe wiggled in his too-small dress shoes, a physical manifestation of the anxious curiosity he couldn’t let go. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I guess, but it wasn’t my biggest donation this year.”

“What.” Elliott was dimly aware of his hand tightening on the railing. “How do you afford that?”

Aiden’s feet scraped on the concrete underneath him. “Easily.”

Elliott stared at him, his brain short-circuiting at the dollar signs in front of his eyes.

Aiden sighed. “I have a trust fund from my parents. I invested wisely, and now the only thing I use it for is supporting nonprofits. My parents taught me well. They’re donating to UCLA this year, actually. My cousin’s an alumnus.”

“Cool,” Elliott said, blinking rapidly in the stiff breeze. “Would it be completely gauche and rude of me to ask you how much you’re worth?”

Aiden’s lips curved a little bit, his eyes shining with the teasing glint that Elliott only ever saw when they were alone. “Probably. But I’m not too worried about you only deciding to be with me for my money.”

Then a number came out of Aiden’s mouth that made Elliott glad he wasn’t holding a drink. It would’ve fallen to the floor in elegant slow motion like the movies, a mess he’d have to clean up himself.

Elliott had always known there was a big wage gap between them. It was kind of the point of their arrangement. If Aiden had money to waste on companionship he could’ve gotten for free on a sketchy dating app, that was his prerogative and Elliott’s privilege. Elliott still struggled with feeling like he was giving Aiden his money’s worth, but maybe this new knowledge would help. Aiden obviously had more cash to blow on strippers and champagne than he let on.

The downside to this revelation was that Elliott felt like a pauper at a prince’s banquet. And not in a Cinderella way. He didn’t have to come up with a response, thankfully, because someone came out of the door to the building, saying, “Did you see that red carpet they have out there? So cringe, honestly.”

“Hi, Jill,” Aiden said, turning around and hugging her. “It gives the oldies a thrill, I think.”

Jill Kent was just as model gorgeous as her brother and her uncle, in a sharp, angular way. Dangerously attractive, rather than pretty.

“They better not get too thrilled or they’ll expire,” she said, tossing a lock of dark hair over her shoulder with an irritated twitch, like she wasn’t used to it bothering her. “What a way to die. On a tacky red polyester rug with half a glass of flat champagne in your hand.”

“Could be worse,” Elliott couldn’t resist saying. “Could be a white shag carpet and a fake crab canape.”

Jill shuddered. “God, you’re right. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m praying for death later on today. Who are you?”

“This is Elliott Meyer,” Aiden said, saving him from his surprise at her bluntness, but pointedly keeping his hands to himself. “He's a friend from the gym.”

That’s how it is, is it? But Elliott didn’t dwell on the meaning further than acknowledging that he had a certain role to play now. By the time he held out his hand for Jill to shake, his posture was different, slouchier. His other hand hung loosely at his side, taking up a larger space. “Hey. It’s nice to meet you. You’re the only thing I can get Aiden to talk about between reps.”

Untrue. Most of what he knew about Aiden’s family, Aiden had let slip while talking about something else. The divide between his family life and the one Elliott saw was wide.

“Nice to meet you, Elliott,” Jill said, smiling, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s interesting. I’ve never heard of you. I don’t think Shannon has either.”

“Oh?” Elliott gave nothing away. It wasn’t odd to keep a casual acquaintance in the weight room. That acquaintance being invited to dinner? Suspicious.

“Where is Shannon, by the way?” Aiden interrupted, saving Elliott from prolonged small talk. “Wasn’t she coming with you?”

Jill made a face. “Sick as a dog. She’s been in bed since last night, so I told her that if she showed up here and infected everyone else with her plague, I’d make her regret it. It says something about how sick she really is that she didn’t even argue with me.”

Aiden winced, and Elliott could almost see the new entry in his mental datebook titled Call Shannon to make sure she’s still alive. “That’s rough. I know how bad she is at being sick.”

“You’re telling me. It’s a good thing it only happens once every few years. If I had to listen to her whining every flu season, I’d put her out of her misery.”

Elliott snorted. “You’re both lucky. I come from a whole family of bad patients.”

“Oh, yeah?” Aiden asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Dad got injured on duty once and we nearly had to strap him to the bed to keep him still. He hated feeling useless. And my mom—”

Elliott cut off like a tap being closed as he remembered it wasn’t just him and Aiden. Jill was there, her dark eyebrow raised.

But Aiden bumped his shoulder, arms still crossed, yet smiling. “Your mom?”

“She was worse. I used to taste every meal to make sure the nurses hadn’t snapped and poisoned her.” Elliott managed to grin over Aiden’s choked laughter. “And that had nothing to do with the fact that nine-year-old me loved Jell-O and political intrigue.”

Aiden laughed again, shaking his head at the floor. Elliott felt his lips curve more too, a rush of gratitude infusing him—he’d never told that story to anyone. That had been before they’d known how bad the cancer was, a time him and his dad rarely spoke about.

“Thankfully, no hospitals have been involved, but I’m tragically unaccompanied.” Jill sighed. “Which would be considered more pitiful by the Second Marriage Matchmakers Club? Going to something like this alone or going with my sister? Not that I give a crap what they—”

“Going with your sister,” Elliott said. “Definitely.”

Jill’s sculpted eyebrows shot up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aiden’s do the same thing. “Why? Isn’t it better that I find someone, even if they aren’t a viable romantic prospect?”

“Nope. Go alone, there’s a chance they’ll actually believe you when you tell them you don’t want to bring a date. Bring a gay best friend or a big sis and there’s nothing to stop them from thinking you’re trying to fill the significant-other-shaped void.”

“I guess it’s for the best, then,” Jill allowed. “What about Aiden, though? Should he be worried they’ll come after him for bringing his presumably straight gym friend who probably doesn’t know which fork to use?”

Elliott rolled his eyes. He did know which fork to use, but he wasn’t living in The Princess Diaries, so no one cared. “Nah. He’s a man, didn’t you know? He’s dedicated to his career. He’s got all the time in the world to settle down with a nice girl.”

“Ugh, stop it,” Jill said, waving her beaded clutch in his face. “You sound like my great aunt. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d tape the definition of a double standard to her face so she’d have to look at it the next time she dragged me to the ‘powder room,’ to get ‘pretty for the boys.’”

Elliott grinned at her air quotes and her childishly stuck-out tongue. “You can lead the baby boomer to water, but you can’t make them progress.”

Her eyes flicked between him and Aiden, and Elliott saw how many questions she was bursting to ask. He also saw the moment when she decided to let it go—for now.

“Well, in that case, don’t escort me in,” she ordered, as if Elliott would even try. “I’m going back there, and I want all those old biddies to see me without a man on my arm.”

“You go, girl.”

“I certainly will. And I am not going to tell the kitchen that Shannon won’t be here to eat her dinner. They always serve three bites of steak and a single string bean, and try to tell me that’s dinner.”

“You deserve it,” Elliott said.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed. “You should probably come inside too. If you come in late for dinner, they’ll think you’re pulling an Uncle Innes at the Autism benefit concert last fall.”

Elliott’s face instantly prickled with heat. He was glad for the dim light on the terrace because as he went stiff, he could feel Aiden doing the same thing beside him.

Elliott remembered that night. Innes had fucked him in a broom closet that wasn’t nearly as soundproofed as Elliott had thought, and when they’d walked into the concert late, nobody had been watching the performers. Until that night, he’d foolishly believed he couldn’t be embarrassed by anything anymore.

After, they’d fought worse than they ever had, because Innes had tried to give him a cash bonus to soothe his bruised pride. He hadn’t known it, but it’d been the beginning of the end.

“How do you know about that?” Aiden choked. “You weren’t even there.”

“I have my ways,” she crowed, curling her cherry-red lips. “Or, really, my friend Heather has her ways of being in the right place for the best gossip, and she tells me all the good stuff.”

“Fantastic,” Aiden drawled, and Jill laughed at him as she walked away.

“Do you want to go in?” Elliott asked when she was out of earshot. He felt brittle—because he was cold, not because of how tense Aiden had gotten after Jill’s flippant reminder of his sexual history. Aiden could tell Jill whatever he liked. He was paying handsomely for the privilege.

“Yeah,” Aiden said, then he reached an arm across Elliott’s lower back before he seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped it, wincing as Elliott failed to bite back a humorless smile.

“It’s okay,” Elliott told him. “She doesn’t have to know if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Aiden sighed, dragging a hand through his hair and messing up the careful style. “It’s not that I’m not comfortable. It’s just that I don’t date much, and she’ll make any relationship into something it’s not. Then she’ll tell Shannon, who’ll tell my mother, and it’ll snowball into you spending a day learning how to make the Kent family seven-layer lasagna, and I don’t want to put you through that kind of torture—”

“It’s fine, honestly,” Elliott said, laughing and already thawing out. “I can be your gym buddy for today. I’d help you with your squats any time.”

Aiden rolled his eyes, just like Elliott had known he would, and the tension between them evaporated. When they went inside and sat down to dinner a couple of minutes later, they shared amused looks over Jill’s eager grip on her knife and fork.

It was odd to realize that if Aiden wasn’t Elliott’s boss, he could have been Elliott’s friend. They spent the majority of their free time with each other. They shared a lot of the same opinions, some of the same interests, and they never ran out of things to talk about. The great sex was just a bonus.

Elliott had never had a friend with benefits, but if he and Aiden had met the normal way, at the gym for real or at a bar, that was what they might’ve become. He couldn’t imagine that this parallel universe version of himself would have much time for dating either, so they wouldn’t have been boyfriends right away. Probably wouldn’t ever have been.

Elliott shook himself out of his head. They definitely wouldn’t ever be boyfriends. Real life was way too complicated for him to go backward in Aiden’s view from The Guy He Paid for Sex.

Dinner was over way too soon, and dessert—after about forty-three years of gushing speeches from the organizers—was even shorter. He could at least be grateful that the three dice-sized cubes of soggy toast they were calling “deconstructed bread pudding” hadn’t made him uncomfortably full. Jill was looking particularly smug about having six whole cubes to herself. After he’d finished, and the incredibly efficient waiters started darting in and out to get their plates, he got bored.

There were only so many patterns he could arrange the spilled salt on the tablecloth into without getting obscene, and the conversations going on around the table were either incredibly boring (golf swings) or nothing he wanted to get involved in (Republican politics).

One good thing about the event was that the music they’d picked was attempting to be young and hip, so it was mostly one-hit wonders from the 1990s and the early 2000s, which was a nice change from the usual. He liked old-timey jazz as much as the next guy, but there were only so many times someone could listen to the same soundtrack at every boring party before they wanted to stab their eardrums at the sound of Frank Sinatra.

On the dance floor across the ballroom, two girls in fancy dresses were dancing to “Mambo No. 5.” They were just old enough to be trusted at the grown-up party, but not old enough to stay trapped at the grown-ups table, so they spun around instead, giggling and silly. They were cute. Elliott wished he had moves like that.

“Hey,” Elliott said, leaning over to Aiden, who was staring intently at his phone. “This might be a long shot, and feel free to say no, but do you want to dance?”

Aiden blinked at him in surprise. He turned around in his chair toward the largely empty dance floor and the two girls now flailing in an incomprehensible synchronized move. His lips twitched with amusement. “I’m not a very good dancer.”

Elliott sat up, excited, because that wasn’t a no.

“Is anyone?” he argued. “It’s not supposed to be elegant. It’s fun. Get your heart rate up by thrashing around to the beat.”

Aiden shook his head, then looked at the dance floor again, which had gained a pair of old people doing the foxtrot, ignoring the peppy beat completely.

“I can’t promise any thrashing,” he said, hesitantly. “But I can step and snap beside you while you do it.”

“Awesome.” Elliott stood up from his chair, wincing at the loud screech. “Come on, we gotta show these kids how to Dougie.”

“What the hell’s a Dougie?”

“No clue, but I’m better at it than a ten-year-old.”

“You’re kidding,” Jill said when she saw that Aiden had stood, then she followed his lead.

“What?” Aiden asked, suspiciously.

Jill ignored him and pinned Elliott with her glare. “You got Aiden—Aiden, my brother—to dance.”

Elliott turned to Aiden, who was going pink and looked exasperated. It hadn’t even taken that much convincing.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Aiden said, raising his chin in the way he did when he was embarrassed or on edge.

“You know what,” Jill said. “I think I will.”

She stalked past them both, smiling widely and confidently at the older couple, whose rhythm didn't falter as the song drew to a close. The next one began right away, and Jill grooved, despite her little black dress. It wasn’t really made for dancing, but she made it work, moving to the beat with her shoulders and arms.

Elliott hooted from the edge of the floor, then happily cha-cha’d over to her, with Aiden not far behind.

It wasn’t like in the movies. More and more people didn’t suddenly come running to the dance floor, free from the bindings of the social order, thanks to a couple of quirky kids and their crazy dance moves. A few people came and went as they danced, some laughing with or at them, some ignoring them, but they were on their own for the most part.

Aiden hadn’t lied about not being much of a dancer. He wasn’t terrible, but his rhythm was off, and for someone who was so good in bed, he was terrible at moving his hips. Elliott almost told him this before he remembered that Jill still thought they were just friends. Maybe.

Elliott was pretty sure she was way too smart to think nothing was going on. Her eyes narrowed whenever Elliott danced too close to Aiden, but she didn’t call him on it, possibly because she couldn’t put her finger on their real relationship status. Friends who banged? Fuck buddies, no friendship required? Boyfriends? Jill certainly wouldn’t be able to guess the truth, not without some outside help.

Elliott made a vow not to be around if Jill found out the whole situation. Aiden could deal with that hot mess on his own, no matter how much he was paying him.

The two little girls never sat down, not even after Elliott, Aiden, and Jill collapsed back into their chairs. Jill and Elliott complained about their burning thigh muscles as they held lukewarm water glasses to their cheeks, but since Aiden had categorically refused to get low, he was fine, if a little sweaty. Elliott himself was probably red as a tomato, while both of his Kent companions had simply gained a dewy glow. Stupid fantastic genes.

Jill left first, citing an early trip to get back to her college campus. She kissed Aiden on the cheek before she left and then, after a moment’s hesitation, kissed Elliott’s too.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said. “The most interesting thing that usually happens at one of these is the Second Wives Club drinking too much and oversharing about their step kids.”

Jill really was cool. She was exactly the kind of person he might have been friends with, if he allowed himself friends. Maybe in another life . . .

“Thanks,” Elliott said, thumbing the remains of her red lipstick off his cheek. “I had a blast.”

When had he last had so much fun at a party? Thinking back over the events he’d suffered through, the answer was, unsurprisingly, never. And it had everything to do with the company he was keeping.

The air-conditioning in the car was really unnecessary, but Elliott was too tired and happy to care or bother the driver.

“We can drop you off first.” Aiden was already undoing his bow tie and the top stud on his shirt. His face was half-lit by the choppy shadows that fell into the car as they drove, but he looked as content as Elliott felt.

“Cool.”

Elliott checked his phone. It was midnight. Early by his standards, but he’d probably go straight to bed, and maybe he’d be as happy in his dreams as he was awake.

“Unless you—” Aiden said, then he broke off.

Elliott glanced up from the glowing screen to see him staring out the window. “Hmm?”

“You could stay at my place, if you like,” Aiden offered, turning his face a little, but not far enough that he met Elliott’s eyes.

Elliott blinked against the cold air blowing from the front of the car, stinging his eyes. He watched Aiden’s profile, trying to get a read on his request. “Should I?”

Aiden shrugged, tossed a glance over his shoulder, then turned his eyes to see the road ahead through the darkened windshield. “Your call. You could come over tomorrow afternoon as usual, or you could spend the night and I could cook you breakfast in the morning instead.”

Elliott pondered the question carefully. He didn’t stay the night very often, and when he did, he was gone before Aiden woke up. Breakfast had never been a part of their equation.

“Really?” Elliott asked, aiming for teasing nonchalance. “I thought that was the kind of thing that would fall into the cons list of relationships. The morning after.” He shuddered theatrically.

“No,” Aiden said, finally finding Elliott’s eyes in the partial darkness. “Breakfast is a good meal to share if you like the person you share it with. There’s none of the anxiety that comes with other meals. Dinner means expectations, usually, no matter how long you’ve been dating. Lunch is fine, but it always feels like filler. You can’t really relax at lunch. You have to go back to whatever it was you were doing before you interrupted your day halfway through.”

“No work to rush off to on a Sunday morning,” Elliott murmured.

“Exactly. You can take your time. The pressure’s off, you’ve probably already done what was making you nervous.” Elliott laughed softly and Aiden smiled. “Breakfast is honest. I think it’s harder to hide in the morning, when you’re still waking up and you haven’t shown anyone outside your face yet.”

Aiden’s face hid nothing just then. There was a wistfulness that Elliott could plainly see, and a little touch of sadness that was overtaken more and more by hopefulness as Elliott watched. Not a grand sort of hope, for a romantic victory against all odds. A quiet hope, for a small thing that wouldn’t change anything. For a peaceful Sunday morning with a person he liked to spend time with. Elliott knew the feeling.

“I thought you didn’t cook,” Elliott said.

Aiden rolled his eyes. “I can scramble a couple of eggs. I’m not completely helpless.”

If Elliott went home with Aiden now, he’d still be technically on the clock, for only a few more hours than he normally logged in a week, but it would probably be more like hanging out. He could see himself waking up on the guest side of Aiden’s bed, his hair crazy from leftover gel. He could imagine what it would be like to have breakfast and chill over some coffee before he headed back to his dorm.

He agreed with Aiden about mornings, though. The light would be brighter, the day newer, and Elliott worried that he’d be more transparent than usual. Then again, what did he have to hide from Aiden?

Looking at Aiden, Elliott remembered the contained glee in his eyes back on the dance floor when he’d recognized a song and started to relax, revealing his embarrassingly thorough knowledge of the lyrics.

After their rocky start, they’d packed a hell of a lot of fun into just a couple of hours.

Aiden must have agreed, and maybe that was where this request was coming from. Maybe, like a kid refusing to go to sleep on Christmas Day because the fun would be over for another year, Aiden wanted to stretch it out.

“Okay,” Elliott said, his stomach tight from happiness. “I’ll stay.”

“All right,” Aiden said, smiling again.

Elliott grinned back. His contentedness felt too large for the small car, so he lowered the window. As they sped toward the rest of their night, Elliott was freezing and windblown, but so very happy.