LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(12)

The edge of Scotty’s mouth curled, but he tried to maintain his air of annoyance at me. “What about carriagejacking? And impersonating an officer? You never even got charged with those things.”

“If I recall,” I shot back, “that entire episode was captured on video and broadcast all over the damned internet. In fact, because of that little jaunt through the city and the situation with Polly, I’m supposed to be packing up and fleeing the city right about now. So do your worst, carriage boy. You don’t scare me.”

Just then we heard the sound of liquid splattering onto tile downstairs. It took about half a second to realize Nugget was voicing her displeasure with a stream of powerful horse urine.

I locked eyes with Scotty, but before I could express my own displeasure at him, he shot up the stairs to the guest room and bath.

“Yeah, you’d better run!” I shouted after him anyway. “And don’t think I’m cleaning that up!”

It wasn’t until I turned back to my laptop that I remembered what I’d said about promising Oscar I’d be leaving the city today. The moment filming for Deep Cut had wrapped, he’d insisted I take time away from the city and the constant presence of paparazzi in order to give the recent news stories a chance to die down. “No photos, no scandals,” he’d reminded me.

He’d offered me his cottage in Vermont and said it would be a great place to relax, get my head on straight, and figure out what project I wanted to work on next. I’d agreed. Living under the constant eye of the press was exhausting. It would be nice to go somewhere I could scratch my balls without it becoming national news.

Just then my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Oscar, of course. He had a preternatural ability to know when someone was thinking about him. Honestly, it was unsettling at times.

He got straight to the point.

Oscar: There’s a horse in your house.





Well, that answered the question of when the photos from this morning would get out.

Me: Yes.

Oscar: A horse.

Me: Yes.

Oscar: In your house.

Me: Yes.

Oscar: I did not know this was a thing that could happen.

Me: Apparently it is.

Oscar: I can see that. In great detail. In fact, I’m looking at several pictures of it right now. On Twitter. Where the horse in your house is trending.

Me: LOL?

Oscar: Or something.

Me: Her name is Nugget.

Oscar: Well that clears everything up.

Me: I thought it might.

Oscar: Hey, speaking of things that shouldn’t be in your house right now: you. Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to my cottage in Vermont this very moment?

Me: I was packing when Scotty came with Nugget.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Sure I’d been in bed when Scotty started waging war on my front door, but I’d at least been mentally packing.

Oscar: Scotty would be that adorable street urchin who accompanied said horse?

I felt myself smile. I couldn’t help it.

Me: Yes.

Oscar: Well, seems like you have everything under control so I’ll just go back to doing Reiki.

Me: Energy healing?

Oscar: Ricky. Stupid voice to text.

Me: Wait. Your cottage in Vermont — you said there was some land around it. There wouldn’t happen to be a barn up there, would there? I find myself in need of a place to store a horse.





5





Scotty





Burke’s Blunder Gets Carriage Driver Canned



I stepped out of Roman Burke’s palatial shower feeling like a new man. I’d stood under the steaming spray for at least twenty minutes, letting it scour away several days’ worth of dirt and grime. Most of that time I’d also been acutely aware of the fact that I was standing naked in the same place Roman stood naked every morning.

Of course it hadn’t been difficult for my imagination to make the leap between that thought and the image of Roman standing there naked now. With me. Both of us naked together. He was so much bigger than I was—so much taller and wider, and I’d wondered if that meant other parts of him were bigger as well, and if so, what kind of size were we talking about?

I swallowed, the thought setting my blood on fire and sending it south. But as much as I wanted to indulge in the thought of Roman Burke running massive soapy hands over my body, that particular fantasy was going to have to wait. I was pretty sure someone like Roman would have an unending supply of hot water, but I didn’t want to test that theory. There was nothing worse than having a good shower stroking session interrupted by a literal douse of cold water.

Plus, I had to remember that Roman was the reason I was in this mess to begin with.

Once I was out of the shower and dry, I reached for my backpack only to remember that I’d left it, and therefore my one remaining set of clean clothes, in the entry foyer. I started to pull on the clothes I’d been wearing earlier, but the stench and filth of them was too much. Wearing those, even just to sneak downstairs and back, would put me back where I was before: smelling and feeling like a barn.

Instead, I wrapped the thick towel around my waist and snuck into the hallway, sticking to the edge of the staircase in hopes of not drawing attention. As I reached the bottom of the steps and tiptoed past the door to the kitchen, I overheard Roman on the phone. He sounded exasperated.