Rich found his shirt and shrugged into it. “Yes. I have a busy day ahead.”
Olly glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s six a.m.”
“The sooner I get started, the sooner I can turn myself in, right?”
Olly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up. He decided on a full-frontal approach to his fears and Rich. “You sure you’re not having a post-gay-fuck attack of self-loathing and identity crisis?”
Rich stopped tucking his shirt into his jeans, clapped his eyes on Olly and said, “I’m too handsome to self-loathe.” Pure rubbish, Olly suspected, but the fact Rich had a sense of humor about him was a good sign.
“Uh-huh, and modest too. Don’t tuck your shirt in—it makes you look like a dork. Come here.” Olly pushed himself up to his knees at the foot of the bed and let the blanket fall and reveal his naked splendor. He wanted to know how Rich would react.
Rich didn’t move right away. His gazed dropped from Olly’s face to the family jewels, then it traveled back up. Their eyes locked, Rich stepped forward and put his arms around Olly in a way so his hands landed on Olly’s butt cheeks. He held them firm. At the same time, he pressed his lips to Olly’s. It was a meeting of lips, no tongues, and it made sense in the context of morning breath. Rich let go. “We’ll have to explore my identity crisis in depth later. For now, I have to go.”
Before Rich could step away, Olly got hold of the offending shirt and yanked it out of Rich’s jeans. “Call me before you go to the cops.”
“Will do.” Rich gave a thumbs-up and was out the door.
At work, Jem was giving Olly strange looks, but they couldn’t have a word edgewise till lunch break. At Jem’s suggestion, they nipped out to the sandwich shop across the street. Jem loved his carbs. Fortunately, the place also served a damn good arugula salad with beets and goat cheese.
“What do I hear about you being questioned by the police?” Jem asked as soon as they sat down.
“Uh, nothing. Rich and I talked to a guy who was killed a few hours later, and the cops wanted to know about it. I’m sure it’s routine.” Olly figured he’d be fine as long as he stuck to bits of truth and deflected. “Did Nick tell you? What did he say?”
Luckily, Jem was easy to derail. “Nah, he just mentioned it. You know how he is—doesn’t tell me anything. For some inexplicable reason, he got into his head that I’m prone to getting into trouble. I don’t know why.”
“Didn’t you get yourself into a big mess last year, around the time you guys met? Oh and by the way, you’ve never told me the full story.”
“I can’t. I signed some papers.” Jem took a sip of his water. “I was still under a curse then. I’ve explained this to Nick numerous times and in detail, but he just rolls his eyes at me and says I’m nuts. Aaanyway, you and this Rich guy are hanging out together now? I thought you hated him.”
Olly chose his words carefully. “He pissed me off at first, but he ain’t so bad once you get to know him better.”
Despite Olly’s best efforts, Jem’s ears perked up like a cat’s at the sound of the can opener. “Oh really. So how well do you know him now?”
“Uhm, well, let’s just say his closet is in the process of being decluttered. You were right about him.”
“I told you so!” Jem’s smile bordered on smug. “Good job, you dirty young man.”
“It’s for the greater good. Just doing my part.”
Jem chortled. “So, be honest, is it just sex, or is there something more?”
Olly was afraid of looking at his own feelings because he was uncertain about Rich’s, so he evaded. “Oh, you know, too early to say. We just met, and most of the time we spent together was working on Sandy’s house.”
Mercifully, Jem didn’t press for more. “Right. How’s it going, by the way?”
“Pretty much done. Just need to move the furniture in. Rich is planning a surprise housewarming party,” Olly added since it was almost true and he wanted to keep Jem from circling back to the beginning of their conversation. Plus, he was itching to tell Jem about his recent brush with near-celebrity. “We even went to ask Willard Keats for help. You might not remember his name—”
“Sure I do. I saw Blood Moon Island fifteen times.”
“For what’s-his-face’s shirtless scenes, right?”
“What do you think?”
Olly was busier than a hive of bees for the rest of the afternoon, but there was something scratching and scuffling at the back of his mind—something having to do with Willard Keats. The more he tried to grasp it, the further it slipped. Then it was time to stock the produce and then the frozen goods. He didn’t get to talk to Jem again till about five, and only because Jem cornered him in the stockroom.