LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(52)

“Oops,” Lolo said with a put-upon sigh. “I guess now he won’t be in the mood to make any phone calls for a little while. Regardless,” he added with a wave of his hand, “I’m going to need a vodka gimlet before this goes any further. Anyone care to join me? I know where Oscar keeps the good stuff.” He looked down his long, elegant nose to the heap of whining on the floor and raised an eyebrow at his partner. “From when he and all his friends took naked body shots off me at New Year’s.”

Larry howled something in response, but it was completely incomprehensible given the pitch and extent of his rage.

Lolo simply smirked and sauntered past us, deeper into the house. Roman and I glanced at each other with matching looks of surprise on our faces.

“You’re really going to have to introduce me to your friend Oscar,” I said with awe. “I think I’m in love.”

The groaning from the floor suddenly ceased. The two of us looked down at Larry. He was staring up at Roman with wide eyes.

“Holy crappin’ crawdads. I recognize you now. You’re Roman Burke.”

“Shit,” Roman said under his breath. “This asshole is not outing my location to the fucking media. Grab his legs, Scotty. We’re going to have to lock him up until I can get a hold of Oscar.”

I stared at him.

Roman Burke had just instructed me to commit unlawful imprisonment on a complete stranger.

Maybe Marigold had left us some magic ’shrooms after all. And I’d accidentally eaten the whole lot.





16





Roman





Hiding The Body: When Cat Fights Turn Feral



Scotty looked at me with such an expression of complete horror that I almost started laughing again. Something about being around him made me so fucking giddy, it was insane. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with a partner in crime.

“Just for the record, I was kidding about locking him up,” I said, knocking my shoulder gently against him. “Grab his legs so we can take him to the kitchen and get a bag of ice. I’d carry him by myself, but my hand is already swelling.”

Scotty moved around to grab the guy by the ankles. “Am I on some kind of reality show? I should have asked you sooner.”

I glanced up at Scotty after getting my arms under Larry’s shoulders. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

His grin was goddamned adorable, and I wanted to eat it. “Absolutely not. There’s no other explanation for the past twenty-four hours. Hell, the past two weeks, if I’m being honest.”

We dragged the moaning shithead into the kitchen and plunked him down. Lolo was somehow already perched daintily on a stool with a martini glass in his hand. As I looked more closely at the glass, I realized there was even an artsy twist of lime on the edge.

“I need a Lolo in my life,” I heard Scotty mutter under his breath. “Dragging assholes across mansions is thirsty work.”

Lolo flicked the back of his fingers toward an area of the counter that held the ingredients for the cocktail. “DIY, fellas. Help yourself. Once I get a couple of these down, I’m going to have to find some tapas.”

He said the word with a clipped Spanish flare before taking another glug of his drink.

I lifted a brow at Scotty. “Want me to make you one?”

“Hell yes. I’ll finish the casserole thing.”

We wound up next to each other while I made the drinks and he put the dinner fixings together into a baking dish. Scotty spoke softly out of the corner of his mouth. “No offense, but I’m not sure a chicken veggie casserole is going to cut it for princess over there.”

“Definitely not,” I agreed. “Ideas?”

He looked up in thought. “I worked as a busboy at Boqueria for a while. The trick with tapas is to serve tiny portions on tiny plates and call it something fancy.”

“Can’t we just make portions of that look tiny and fancy? Call it… blistered pepper poulet et pates?”

“I think that’s French, not Spanish.”

“French tapas is the new tapas,” I said with a sniff. “Everyone knows that.”

Scotty’s eyes opened in recognition of the made-up bullshit. “So true. Everyone who’s anyone knows that.”

We continued joking around while he slipped the casserole in the oven and returned to help me fill up a couple of bags of ice for me and the shithead.

“Let’s go into the den,” Scotty said. “There’s a fire in there.”

“Ooo! Goodie,” Lolo said, extricating his long legs from the pretzel twist he’d had them in. “We can leave Larry here. Just kind of… lean the ice bag up against his face. Yes, like that.” He nodded and began walking out of the kitchen.

When we got into the den, Lolo had already dropped sideways into one of the chairs with his slender feet closest to the glowing embers. They were encased in a brightly colored pair of velvet slippers. He must have changed into them when we weren’t looking. I vaguely recalled a large black leather handbag slung over his shoulder when the two of them had first arrived.

“Be a love and toss a few logs on, won’t you? I would but…” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence, instead taking another swig of his cocktail. Which seemed somehow miraculously full again. I glanced around the den, spotting a bar tucked away in the back corner. The man worked quick.