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of the privacy of his loft. Shawn fought a sudden surge of jealousy thinking of the men who’d seen him like this in the last year. How many lovers had he had? A gorgeous and successful man like Roscoe couldn’t have been lacking for company. It made Shawn sick to think of the cute young things that had graced his sheets.
    To hide his reaction, Shawn climbed down from the stool and went to the refrigerator to pull out a carton of orange juice.
    Glasses were still in the same place they had been. He shook his head as he sat back on his stool. After all this time, he still knew where everything was. Although, a year wasn’t really that long. It just felt like it.
    Roscoe set a plate piled high with a thick omelet in front of him and a few free slices of tomato. “What?”
    “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just…” He poured his juice. No pulp.
    Like he liked it. Roscoe had preferred with pulp before him but ENCORE! ENCORE! 25
    had adapted when they lived together. And the tomatoes. Roscoe used to dice them and put them in the omelet, until Shawn professed liking to nibble on the slices instead. Shawn put the carton down, and shook his head. “God.” Butter sizzled as Roscoe started on his own omelet. “Share.”
    “This is too familiar.”
    “Breakfast?”
    “That. This place.” The sex. “All of it.” Roscoe glanced over his shoulder, then smiled. “Yes. It is.” The warmth in his voice brought warmth to Shawn’s face.
    Frowning, he picked up his fork and dug into the fl uffy egg goodness before him. Roscoe was seated on the barstool next to him, tucked up into his own omelet by the time Shawn found his voice.
    He pushed little bits of peppers around his mostly empty plate. “The play’s really Equity?”
    “It is.”
    “Anyone else I know in the cast?”
    Roscoe chewed and swallowed before he answered. “I don’t know.” He wiped his lips with a paper towel. “I haven’t cast it yet.”
    Shawn gave him a full frown. “What?”
    Roscoe didn’t look at him. “The casting call went out yesterday.
    Auditions are end of next week.”
    Shawn stared. “You came to me fi rst?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    Roscoe gave in and set his fork down, turning on the stool to face Sawn. “One of my stipulations was that I chose my own Beatrice.”
    “Are you doing this to get me back?”

    26 Mykles ~ Much Ado
    A black brow raised and equally black eyes drifted down and to the left. He shrugged. “If it works.” He was admitting it? “I don’t believe this.” Shawn hopped off his stool, fi ghting the swell to his heart that told him he was fl attered. “Are you serious?”
    Roscoe sighed. “It’s not entirely like that. I got the offer from the Bard’s Festival. They gave me fi rst choice of scripts.” He shrugged. “Seemed like a good fi t.”
    First choice. Which meant Roscoe’s play would headline.
    Which meant an actor in the leading role would potentially get a nice bit of recognition out of it. Everyone who was everyone went to these festivals when they were close enough—which this one was. He could very easily get other roles off- or even on-Broadway as a result. “Do they know you’re planning on casting a guy as your leading lady?”
    “They do. The gender bending is one of the themes of the festival.” He had Shawn’s glass of orange juice in his hand and took a sip. “I’m going one step further. I’m going to switch up the young lovers too.”
    Despite himself, Shawn paused. When they’d done the play in LA for his college, Roscoe had only switched Beatrice and Benedick. “Hero and Claudio too?”
    Roscoe nodded. “Switch up the romantic leads and see what happens. I came up with the idea back in LA, actually, but it was too late by then.”
    Shawn stared. It was Roscoe’s fault that he’d ever tried on a dress. He still blamed Roscoe for getting him to like it. It had been Roscoe’s idea, back when they were student and teacher, to have Shawn play Beatrice. Shawn had been reluctant,