LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(35)

I thought about Roman saying that I needed to be careful Marigold didn’t make off with anything important of Oscar’s, but I wondered if vodka fell under that category. “And if you get the vodka, will you leave?”

Marigold drained the rest of her mimosa. “Yep.”

I clapped my hands together. “Excellent. Let’s go find some vodka.”

Half an hour later, the kitchen was a mess, Oscar’s vodka stash was seriously depleted, and the house was once again blessedly empty. I retreated to the bedroom to find Roman on his side under the covers. “They’re gone,” I said, collapsing on the bed next to him. “Finally. Marigold said something about going to the spa? Or the sugar shack? I never could quite figure it out. But so long as they’re gone and stay gone, I don’t much care.”

“The spa and the sugar shack are both on the property,” he said, voice muffled by the covers.

“Shit. So they could be back after all.”

Roman rolled to face me. “I’m sorry, Scotty.”

“For what?” I asked, genuinely not sure what he was apologizing for.

He glanced away. “For being lame.”

I stripped down to my boxer briefs and nudged him over so I could lie next to him. “You’re the opposite of lame, Spartacus.”

He turned onto his side to face me. “Spartacus?”

“I think Roman sounds a bit… serious. Don’t you?”

“But I—”

I put two fingers over his lips. “You’re going to go with it. Because you’re Go-With-The-Flow Man.”

“I thought I was Spartacus,” he said with a grin after pulling my hand away.

“That too.”

I nudged his legs apart with a knee and slid closer until we were tangled together. “I say we hide up here for a bit and then we go downstairs and make a feast to take to the movie room.”

“Movie room?”

I grinned. “This place has to have a home theater. And we can spend the entire rest of the day pigging out and watching Roman Burke movies.”

He shook his head vehemently. “No way. Uh-uh. I can’t stand watching myself on screen.”

Even with an expression of mock horror I could tell he was feeling better. Lighter, more quick to smile. His anxiety from this morning fading into the past.

“What’s your favorite movie?” I asked him. “Besides Jurassic Park. That’s stupid, by the way, especially for someone in film.”

He laughed. “I only put that down on the dating site because it was the first thing that popped into my head.” He paused and thought for a moment, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “Let’s see… my favorite movie… I like old Doris Day movies. Which, I mean, makes me hella gay, right?”

I nodded. “Natch.”

“And I also love cheesy romantic comedies. Fifty First Dates is one I get sucked into every time it’s on. But I like unique ones too. Did you ever see Life of Pi?”

“Yeah. Sad as hell. We’re not watching that. Or Castaway. Or anything scary for that matter,” I told him.

“What do you like, then?”

I thought about it. “I like the rom-coms too. And I fucking love teen movies even though they’re also cheesy as hell. I’m a sucker for Hallmark movies at the holidays, but once Christmas morning rolls around, boom. I’m done. No more till next Thanksgiving. And don’t test me on that.”

Roman smiled and ran his hand through my hair. “No Christmas movies, then. Do you like spy films?”

“Love them. I have a huge crush on the guy who was in… what was it called…?” I pretended to search my memory for the name and then snapped my fingers. “Back Pass—”

“Don’t say it!” Roman barked, tackling me and shutting me up with his mouth. I laughed through the kiss, squirming happily underneath him as he pinned me to the bed and tried to keep me quiet with his mouth on mine.

There was no telling how long we spent wrestling and rolling around, jerking each other off and then showering together. When we finally came back downstairs clean and in comfortable sweats, the house was empty and quiet.

But not for long.





12





Roman





Cooperative vs Competitive: Choosing The Right Video Game For A First Date



Scotty was a motherfucker. We did find Oscar’s home theater, but we also found his PS4 and its fat stack of accompanying games. It turned out, Scotty was a ringer on absolutely every game we played.

“How much time do you spend on this shit?” I finally muttered after my little chef dude fell off a moving truck to his death for the one-billionth time. I tossed aside my game controller and reached for my bottle of water.

“You mean before I had to sell my gaming system to pay for horse feed?” Scotty asked absently while he navigated through the game screens to set up our next match.

It was a stark reminder of his dire financial situation.

I toyed with the cap to my water bottle, unsure how much he would appreciate me prying into his life, especially since his current situation was my fault. “Are you going to try and get another job driving a carriage?” I asked him. “Is that something you can do?”