his other hand, he ran his fingers over Shaw’s head, sending a pleasant rasping sensation through the buzzed hair and into Shaw’s scalp.
On the QVC special, the woman was trying on some really big hoops now. Showing them off for the camera. She had an interesting shape, a little bit like a pickaxe: a sticklike body, and then this uneven distribution of weight at the top. Those hoops looked big enough to set off a landslide.
“And they don’t go with her outfit,” Shaw announced.
“Hmm?” North asked, and a page rustled behind Shaw.
“Those earrings are really terrible. And she’s too basic to pull off something terrible.”
“Mmmhmm.” The light scratching of North’s fingers never changed.
Shaw flipped back to 90 Day Fiancé. He didn’t remember the characters’ names, but he kept getting dragged back into the episodes. They fought a lot. And they cried a lot. And they talked into the camera a lot, explaining how they loved this person they’d barely known for three months. That was the part Shaw liked best—well, that and the blow-up fights. He liked hearing all the ways people knew they loved this stranger from another country.
“It’s totally different from us, you know?” Shaw said.
“Hmm?” North’s fingers drifted to the back of Shaw’s head, running down to his nape.
“They’ve known each other for ninety days. Less, sometimes. And somehow, they know they love each other.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Isn’t that crazy?”
Another page rustled. “Crazy.”
“I mean, I probably was in love with you after three months.”
“Oh yeah?”
“But it wasn’t love love. Not like now. I mean, that’s the thing, right? It just keeps growing. The longer you know someone, the more you know their quirks, the good stuff, some of the stuff that’s not so good.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“When did you know you loved me?”
“Huh?”
“North, come on. When did you know you loved me?”
“Freshman year.” Paper whispered again.
“But when? After thirty days? Sixty days? Ninety days? Was it when we were in my dorm room bingeing Buffy? Were we sitting on the quad? Was I drinking hot chocolate? Was I doing naked squats in the shower?”
“It definitely wasn’t the naked squats. I could live the rest of my life without seeing you do naked squats again.”
“Hey! I look good.”
“You’re very handsome. But nobody looks good doing naked squats.”
“I did. I know I did. I can’t believe you never told me this.”
“Sweetheart?” North’s hand slid down Shaw’s neck, curling across his collarbone to settle on his chest.
“Yes?”
“I’m trying to read.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
North grunted, his fingers stroking lightly over Shaw’s chest and stomach.
Shaw flipped channels again, back to QVC, and now a man was pretending to try on the earrings. He had a huge grin of perfectly capped teeth, and he could have been any age between forty and sixty, his skin the orange-bronze of an artificial tan. He thought the earrings were just so damn funny, and now the pickaxe blonde thought they were funny too. They were laughing so hard they were almost falling over, which was a real risk for the blonde, even if she didn’t seem to realize it.
“Maybe I should get my ears pierced,” Shaw said.
North sighed as pages scraped against each other.
“What do you think, North? Do you think I’d look good with my ears pierced?”
Another, louder sigh.
“Maybe we could do that on Saturday. We can go to one of those kiosks in the mall, and you can hold the ice so that my ear’s numb, and I’ll squeeze your hand right when they—”
Shaw found he couldn’t finish because North’s hand was wrapped around his jaw, covering his mouth.
“Mmmm,” Shaw said.
“I know, sweetheart,” North said.
“Mmmm. Mmmm.”
North ran his thumb over Shaw’s cheek and turned another page.
Shaw peeled back North’s fingers and whispered, “I’ll be quiet.”
North made a sound that could only be called skeptical.
Shaw tried to focus on QVC, but now the guy with capped teeth was showing off waffle makers, and it only made Shaw hungry. He flipped back to 90 Day Fiancé, but they were on commercial. Shaw laid his head back on the sofa cushion, the crown of his head against North’s thigh, his skin bare where the running shorts rode up. His leg was warm.
Reaching back, Shaw traced North’s knee. He ran his fingers up North’s leg, through the thick blond hair that tickled his palm, until he brushed the nylon hem and the running shorts gave a crisp rustle. Another page turned. Shaw let his hand slide down to North’s knee. Then back up. Back down. Up again. Never past the running shorts, never slipping up under