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He stumbled forward as an arm slung around his neck.

“Got somethin’ to say about Ireland, Robolad?”

He supposed he should have made more of an effort to wriggle out of the headlock, but he was distracted by how strong Bren had gotten in the last two months. When he didn’t fight back, Bren seemed to lose interest and his grip relaxed before he put his hand down and gave A.J.’s ass a squeeze.

“You’re lucky you’re fit,” Bren said, then gave a low whistle. “This your place? Knew you were posh.”

A.J. chuckled. He was never sure how serious Bren was when it came to stuff like this.

“Nat’s house is nicer than mine, so if anyone’s posh here, it’s you.”

Bren’s face fell in exaggerated indignation, but A.J. thought there was some math going on behind his eyes. Bren’s new basement bedroom at Nat’s house had at least fifty square feet on his.

His keychain jingled as he turned the lock and stepped inside. The A.C. was going strong, and the faint scent of tangerine in the air told A.J. they hadn’t missed his parents by long—if mom was in the house, her diffuser was running.

A.J. slipped off his shoes to find Bren standing in the doorway, staring with an unfocused gaze.

“Is everything OK?” A.J. asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Bren jerked his head like he’d been shaken out of a daydream, which A.J. supposed maybe he had.

“Can’t believe I’m standin’ in Robolad’s house.”

“Well, you’re technically not.”

He took Bren’s hand to guide him inside and the door clicked shut behind them. His heart gave a funny spasm as that same fact hit him—Bren O’Shea was standing in his house.

“You’re really here. Just—standing in my kitchen,” A.J. said, letting his forehead come to rest against Bren’s. “I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

“I’d probably be a lot fitter if this was a dream, like.”

The smell of maple frosting on Bren’s breath was doing nothing to make A.J.’s heart calm down. He closed his eyes and leaned in to meet Bren’s lips, their hands finding each other. The quiet of the house pressed down on him as their lips met. It was rare for there to be so little noise here.

The kiss grew deeper as Bren pressed into it. A.J. gasped as Bren’s hand found the front of his pants.

“Gonna show me your bedroom? Still owe you from this mornin’.”

A.J.’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d been dreaming of being with Bren all summer, so why was he feeling like he suddenly needed a few minutes alone?

“O-oh, yeah,” A.J. said, forcing himself to ignore the strange sensation. “I’m actually in the basement too.”

He didn’t make it two steps before Bren stopped him. “You doin’ OK?”

“Y-yeah. It’s just . . . weird that you’re here.”

A.J. regretted the words the second they’d left his mouth.

“No! I don’t mean—I’m so happy you’re here. It’s just. I dunno.”

He fiddled with the chord running from his pocket, unable to ignore the tag of his shirt biting into the back of his neck. Bren had flown across the Atlantic for no other reason than to be with him. For all he said he had a plan for the certs, A.J. didn’t see how he could manage to pass them without being there for all the prep work. Then it would be all his fault that Bren screwed up his life before it even got started.

“Arlo.”

The word pierced through the static and the ground slid back under A.J.’s feet.

“We don’t gotta do anythin’.”

Before A.J. could protest, Bren pulled his headphones up over his ears and nudged him with his hip.