THE BOYFRIEND AUDITION

Mason woke to Adrian knocking on his door with the determination of a debt collector.

"Nine o'clock. You have forty minutes."

"I'm dead," Mason called into his pillow.

"Then haunt the bathroom while you shower."

He stumbled out to find a garment bag hanging from the kitchen doorway and coffee waiting in his favorite chipped blue mug.

Inside the bag was a midnight-blue suit so beautiful that Mason checked the label twice and sat down very carefully.

"Adrian. Is this borrowed?"

"No."

"Rented?"

"No."

"Stolen? Because I respect a bold criminal enterprise, but—"

"I bought it. It's yours."

Mason looked from the suit to Adrian, who was calmly stirring sugar into his coffee.

"You bought me a suit?"

"You're helping me."

"For that price, I can help you bury a body."

"Wear the suit, Mason."

He did. It fit like it had been made for him.

That was suspicious, considering Adrian hadn't measured him.

"How did you know my size?" Mason asked, emerging from his room.

Adrian's eyes went briefly, unmistakably wide. Then he cleared his throat.

"Your clothes spend more time in the laundry basket than on your body. I have eyes."

"Apparently very talented eyes."

Adrian approached with a tie. He looped it around Mason's collar, tested the knot, and frowned. Mason stood still as the other man's knuckles brushed his throat.

"Too formal," Adrian murmured.

He pulled the tie free. Tried a bow tie. Rejected that, too. Finally he opened the top button of Mason's shirt, then the next.

Mason caught his wrist.

"Hey. Buy me dinner first."

Adrian's gaze lifted. They were standing close enough for Mason to see a tiny amber fleck in his brown eyes.

"I buy you dinner every other night."

"That's—different."

"How?"

Mason had no idea. Something about the question made his neck hot.

Adrian glanced down at the hand still holding his wrist. Mason let go.

"Why are you holding your breath?" Adrian asked.

"I'm not."

"Then breathe."

Mason inhaled, resentful of being caught doing something as basic as not breathing.

Adrian smoothed his lapel. "There. You look almost respectable."

"Almost?"

"Don't get ambitious."

Mason inspected himself in the hall mirror. His brown hair had actually submitted to a comb. The suit made his shoulders look broader and his habitual slouch look intentional. Behind him, Adrian wore a black suit with an open collar, his glasses replaced by contacts. He looked like a lead actor arriving to tell everyone else they'd been cast as extras.

Mason whistled. "Well, hello, corporate espionage."

Adrian met his eyes in the mirror. "What?"

"Nothing. You look good."

"So do you."

The words were simple. Somehow they hung in the air longer than either of them expected.

Mason broke the silence. "We need rules. Fake-boyfriend rules."

"Such as?"

"No surprise kissing."

Adrian's eyebrows rose. "You think I'd ambush you?"

"I've seen romantic comedies. People commit assault in the name of plot development."

"Fine. No kissing without asking."

"And no weird pet names."

"Of course, sweetheart."

"Adrian."

"Sorry, pumpkin."

Mason made a strangled noise.

They practiced the story over breakfast. They'd been dating for three months, were keeping things private, and had no plans to move into a different apartment because, conveniently, they already lived in the same one.

"What if someone asks how we got together?" Mason said.

"We can say it happened naturally."

"That's vague."

"It's a wedding, not an immigration interview."

"What if they ask who kissed whom first?"

Adrian set down his mug.

"Mason. Are you planning to conduct a press conference?"

"I'm preparing for contingencies."

"Then say you kissed me."

Mason considered that. "Would I?"

Adrian's smile changed, becoming smaller and harder to read.

"I don't know," he said. "Would you?"

Mason looked into his coffee. He could edit a forty-minute interview down to a ninety-second highlight reel without missing the important beats. Yet he had no answer to a six-word question.

At the front door, Adrian held out his hand.

"Practice," he said.

Mason took it.

Adrian's palm was warm and dry. Their fingers fit together in an easy way that should not have been noteworthy.

"You can let go," Adrian said after a while.

"I know."

Mason did not, immediately.