Roman balked at that. “I’m just curious to see what he’s up to.”
“Oh, okay,” Jay said with an exaggerated eye roll. “You two smashing?”
“No,” Roman blustered.
“But you want to?”
Roman got a little surly then. He didn’t even like to associate the word “smashing” with Ezra because it implied some kind of hasty and one-sided theft. Like a smash-and-grab. “I—I don’t know,” Roman stammered.
“Why don’t you just grow a pair and ask him out? Do it proper like. Hell, I’ll even join you. I got a new yoga instructor who’s super flexible in more ways than one.” Jay elbowed his ribs.
“You mean a double-date?” Roman needed clarification. He and Jay had shared a few men early on in their sexual escapades, mostly for practical reasons, and Roman wanted to be clear that wasnotwhat Jay was suggesting with Ezra.
“Roman, come on, man, give me a little bit of credit. Unless…” Jay gave him a wolfish smile.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Even though a double-date wasn’t theworstidea, Roman still had his doubts. “What does it say about us that we’re both trying to date our employees?”
“That we’re the mother fuckin’ bosses,” Jay crowed and spread his arms wide like he’d just scored a touchdown.
They went back to their workout but Roman continued to ponder Jay’s suggestion. What sort of outing would his shy housekeeper enjoy? Something with plants? Orchids perhaps? But asking Ezra on a date seemed so high-stakes, especially if things didn’t work out. Plus, he didn’t want Ezra to feel obligated to go along with it simply because Roman housed and fed him and paid his wages.
Maybe instead of a date, Roman could introduce Ezra to some of his friends, to sort of feel him out. And if Roman invited them over to the house, then it’d be a place where they both felt comfortable, where Ezra even had a sort of mastery over his surroundings.
Later that afternoon when he was back at home, Roman posed this question, “Ezra, how would you feel about me hosting a football party?” They were sitting outside by the pool, Roman having convinced Ezra that he could do his homework in his bathing suit on the veranda. Ezra hated lotions, but he’d agreed to let Roman spray him down with an unscented aerosol sunscreen so that he wouldn’t burn. It gave his alabaster skin a dewy luster and with his lips stained red from fruit punch, he looked like a porcelain doll.
“I’d be happy to help with preparations for a football party,” Ezra said, “as long as the food isn’t too pungent.”
Ezra used the word “pungent” instead of “stinky” as a kindness to Roman.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’d like you to come too, as my guest.”
“I’m not really a guest if I live here, am I?”
“Maybe not, but will you come?”
“No.” Ezra shook his head as if to drive home the point.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know a lot about football.”
Roman frowned. “You don’t have to be an expert. Most people come for the snacks anyway.”
Ezra shifted toward Roman. His eyes fluttered from Roman’s bare chest to his eyes, then landed somewhere near his chin. “What if one of your friends asks me a question and I don’t know the answer? Conversely, what if I have a question that turns out to be very elementary? I don’t want to look foolish in front of your football friends.”
“You can ask me your questions. And my friends wouldn’t make fun of you for not knowing something. They’d probably be happy to have someone to share their knowledge with, the way you like to tell me about programming and interplanetary exploration.”
Ezra still looked unconvinced. “I’ll think about it.”
Later that night as they were tidying up after dinner, Ezra asked, “When are you planning to have your football party?”
“Monday night.” And then because he knew Ezra would ask, “Starting at around 8 p.m. and going until about midnight.”
“Monday is a school night, and my bedtime is 10 p.m.,” Ezra mused.
“You don’t have to stay for the whole thing. You can go to your room at halftime if you want.”
“No bleu cheese, right?”
