Page 69

Bren slurped up the dregs of his coffee before plopping the straw back in the top of A.J.’s cup.

“It’s a little early, but this is what winter’s like here. Every year.”

He stopped in front of the old WWII statue on the edge of the school grounds and traced the curve of nameplates that sat in neat rows across the base. The greedy steel lapped the heat from his exposed fingers and the sensation was so endearingly familiar that he let it eat its fill.

“If we wind up at U of R, this is going to be your life for the next four years. Think you’re up to it?”

He’d gone for teasing, but a note of anxiety had crept in along with it. He forced a smile and poked Bren in the shoulder.

The shadow of Bren’s eyes glowered at him from their refuge, then the neck warmer twitched. Bren ripped off his toque to reveal sweaty ginger spikes sticking out at every angle, then unzipped the winter jacket Mom had given him back in September.

“What are you doing?” A.J. asked. Sometimes people with hypothermia lost all sense and stripped off their clothes when things had progressed too far.

“Gimmie that.”

Bren pulled the frappe from him. His cheeks drew inwards as he slurped from the straw until dregs gurgled at the bottom of the cup.

“What the hell?” A.J. said, lamenting the loss of what had seconds before been a half-full drink.

Bren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave a satisfied sigh. “Sorry, Robolad. Needed it for my training.”

A.J. took the cup back when Bren held it out. He jiggled the straw so he could crunch at the icy dregs that clung down the sides.

“Not impressed, huh?” Bren asked, his head tilted as A.J. crunched his ice. “Reckon I should take my shirt off, too?”

He’d pulled the hem of his sweater up enough that the breeze kissed his ginger treasure trail before A.J. pulled it back down. Their eyes met and A.J. gave him the most endearing smile he could. Bren grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips met and Bren’s tongue had just eased forward when A.J. took his hand off the statue and slid it under Bren’s jumper. A shiver started at the spot on his spine where A.J. pressed his icy fingers. It rose out of his mouth an octave higher than anything he’d ever heard Bren make.

A.J. couldn’t get his feet to grip the ground beneath him, and they would have toppled over if there hadn’t been a twenty-foot war memorial right there. Shoulder throbbing, the grip of A.J.’s bear hug loosened enough for Bren to wiggle free and stumble back a few paces, a look of utter betrayal plastered across his reddening face.

“Arlo!”

A.J. tried to shake the numbness from his hand. “Brendan!”

Bren scooped a handful of snow and raised it high. A.J. moved, lunging forward to dredge a snowball into his fist.

His hand pressed against the side of Bren’s face and his snow-muffled “fuck” was loud. A.J. had to go on the defensive when Bren’s hand pressed in.

“You wouldn’t make your boyfriend chilly, would you?” he asked as he struggled to push back against Bren’s wrist with both hands.

“I would when he’s actin’ the maggot.”

Their eyes met and, when he couldn’t hold the smile back any longer, A.J. threw his arms out like he was shielding a loved one from a hail of bullets. The snow splattered against his forehead as Bren dragged his hand across A.J.’s face. Nearly two decades of winter-forged pride was the only thing that stopped him from yelping when a chunk of snow worked inside his bunnyhug to use his solar plexus as a slide.

“It was gonna happen sooner or later. I thought I should be your first,” A.J. said as Bren glared at him, panting and red-faced, with a look of mock fury. “That was called a face wash, by the way.”

“Yeah? And what’s it called when your boyfriend wakes you up with a bucket of snow in the face tomorrow morning?”

“Breaking and entering, I think. Frowned upon.”

The shiver from the snow in his shirt transformed into a shudder as Bren pulled them together. His lips were still cold from the counterattack, and A.J. thought he was holding him close out of something more than just desire.

“Still think your man can’t hack it in Canada?” Bren might have been able to keep his shivers at bay, but the goosebumps on the back of his neck were giving him away.

“He’s got November figured out. But let’s ask him again in January, just to be sure.”

The look Bren gave him made A.J. long for a spot more private than this.