They stood there at the bar, wrapped around each other, and Kavinsky had to conceptualize where they could go. The only downside to this arrangement was they did not have their own, private spaces. Kavinsky could not bring Jack back to the house, because he would not do that to his boys, to the home he'd built. Jack could not take him back to his apartment, because he was moving in with Poison, and that was complicated.

He laughed. "I'm gonna have to buy a fuckin' love nest or something," he said, half serious. "It's not a bad night, weather-wise? We could, I dunno. Drive out somewhere? Or a hotel again."

It felt illicit, like that. Like they had something to be ashamed of.