Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Holden and I were back to normal now—a slightly more polite version of normal, anyway. Which wasn’t so great. We either avoided each other or were excruciatingly polite. For example, Holden didn’t nag at me for leaving eggs on the counter the other morning, and I didn’t tease him when he used words like “perchance” and “mayhap.”
Tommy and Cole eyed us warily over their coffee mugs, but neither commented. And I didn’t stick around long enough to wonder if they were suspicious. I made an excuse about needing to get to work early.
Which was also totally suspicious. I wasn’t expected to make an appearance at the firm until eight or eight thirty. Today, I pulled into the parking lot at seven thirty.
I needed busywork to get my mind off Holden. I had this theory that the more time we put between us and that sexy kissing hump fest, the easier it would be to forget it. Not that I’d welcome full-scale amnesia. Just the opposite. I wanted to remember everything about how fucking perfect he felt under me. The way he tasted and moaned and…
Whoa! I couldn’t sit at my desk rockin’ a boner. I had work to do.
I’d been tasked with researching one of Rossman’s old cases while he was out of town. The witness conveniently forgot everything she’d told the prosecution at trial. Could the recording be used as evidence? Or as an exhibit?
After an hour or so of relative productivity, my mind wandered again. I couldn’t help it. I had sex on the brain. Sure, that was a normal state for me, but my thoughts were specifically gay. And I’d admit, they’d been gay for a while. Porn was all well and good, but I’d wondered what it would feel like to touch a man and now I knew. I also knew that once wasn’t enough.
But I didn’t want just anyone. I wanted Holden.
I didn’t know if I could ignore this feeling the way he seemed to be able to. On one hand, I understood. He had experience. He didn’t need to mess around to know that he liked dick. And I was the last guy he wanted to mess around with anyway. So being polite when we couldn’t straight-up avoid each other was probably wise.
Problem…I couldn’t avoid Holden if I was Henry the fuckin’ Eighth.
See what I’m sayin’? My focus was shot.
I pushed my laptop aside and scrolled his name on my phone. Most of our correspondence consisted of Holden reminding me to do something, like pay rent or move my car. This one was different.
Thank you for helping, Ezra. You’ll be a fantastic Henry VIII. I’ve attached a couple of websites with information regarding the famous royal monarch. Our Henry is the young, charismatic, egotistical king. Not the tyrant he was in later years. More on that later. This will be fun.
Fun. I doubted that. It would be weird ’cause Holden was weird.
And cool and smart and—
“Ezra. You’re here early this morning.” Rossman stopped in front of my desk, a large to-go coffee in one hand and a pastry bag in the other.
“Yes. Welcome back, sir. How was your trip?”
“The deposition went well, thank you. “
“Glad to hear that. I’m making progress with the research you asked for. I’ll forward it to you before I head out for my study group. I’m on a half-day schedule till my last day, which is…next week,” I reminded him.
“So soon?”
“I’ll be back mid-August. I want to dedicate a couple of weeks to studying full-time for the bar exam. I can’t wing it.”
“You’ll do just fine. No doubt about it.”
He flashed a plastic grin as he fished his cell from his suit coat. Mentally, he seemed to have moved on, but he lingered in front of my desk as though he still had something to say.
So did I.
“I talked to my roommate, by the way,” I reported.
Rossman continued typing away on his cell. “Oh?”
Oh? That was it? There had to be some kind of litigation game at play—pretending to be absorbed in your phone while heightening the defense’s awareness. Or something like that. I made a mental note ’cause it was pretty damn effective.
“Yeah, unfortunately, he’s swamped at the moment. Between summer school courses and his commitments at HRS, he isn’t around much. Socializing isn’t in the cards.”
He tore his gaze from his cell. “HRS?”
“Historic Reenactment Society.”
Rossman widened his eyes. “The professor dresses up like a knight or a viking?”
“Something like that. He’s playing Shakespeare at some Renaissance Fair in Pasadena.”
And no, I did not tell him I’d signed on to be Henry VIII.
“Huh. Interesting,” he hummed, though his tone implied the opposite.
“It’s coming up soon and he’s all in. So…the timing just doesn’t work.”
Rossman slipped his cell into his pocket and smiled vaguely, once again conveying only passing interest. “Timing?”