Jay gave him a don’t-bullshit-me look. Roman grabbed a twenty-pound weight and started curling it as a warm-up. “This was a bad idea,” Roman said as his worries escalated, not at Ezra’s ability to do the job, but at his own ability to be professional.
“It was agreatidea. You’re just having the getting-to-know-you jitters.”
“Jay, he lives in my house. I can’t be lusting after him all the time, sniffing him like some dog.” Ezra smelled good too, like soap and whatever it was he put in his hair to smooth it down. Roman recalled the day before when Ezra had asked him if there was something wrong with his appearance. The answer was an enthusiasticno. Roman liked the way he looked very much. Too much. All cute and innocent and eager to please.
“Roman, you’re overthinking things, as usual. Just take it one day at a time. The two of you are going to get along great, I can tell.”
Roman switched arms and considered his other predicament. “I need to get him a jersey with my name and number on it.” Jay burst out laughing again. Roman hated that it meant his best friend had essentially won. “Shut up and tell me where you got it from.” Roman paused for a moment. “And what size.”
“You want to get him a bigger size?”
Roman punched his arm. “Just tell me what size you ordered.”
“Youth large. And the shorts are a women’s small. I’ll text you the website.” Jay pulled out his phone and a moment later, Roman’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He quickly perused the site, which offered jerseys that were custom-made, which was good because he hadn’t been a popular player like Jay but a second-string quarterback with a fussy rotator cuff. He picked out a black jersey and a white one too, along with another pair of shorts, since Ezra would need something to wear when he was doing laundry. He noticed the matching tube socks and got those as well. (In case his feet got cold!) Once the order was placed with rushed shipping, he opened his security app and scrolled to the live feed to find Ezra still kneeling on the living room rug, methodically sorting papers and bric-a-brac into piles. He stretched across one of the stacks for something that was just out of reach and then had to crawl around the pile to get it. Heated arousal came flooding back to Roman and he cursed himself mightily for his slip. He quickly flicked over to his restaurants’ feeds. He didn’t want Jay to know that he had eyes on Ezra. It was just one more thing he’d exploit.
“Did you get them?” Jay asked once he’d put the phone away.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m first on the bench. And you still owe me.”
Jay shook his head with mirth. “Actually, QB, I think this time, you owe me.”
* * *
It wasafter dinnertime when Roman returned home to find Ezra still hard at work. Every surface of the combined living-kitchen-dining area was bare but piled on the floor in neat little stacks were small mountains of stuff. It was a little overwhelming to look at. How had all of this junk accumulated in mere months? Not only that but he’d been away from the house for nearly 12 hours and every time he’d checked his home feed, Ezra had been sorting or else making notes on his tablet. Had the young man not taken a break all day?
“Sir,” Ezra said brightly when Roman paused in the living room to survey his work. “I’d like to update you on my progress, but you may have some coming home rituals you’d like to take care of, so I’ll be patient and wait until you’re ready.” He remained where he was, kneeling on the area rug, and tapped away on his tablet. Roman dropped his duffle bag by the door and took a seat on the couch. His coming home rituals, whatever they were, could wait.
“What’s up, Ezra?”
Ezra crawled over so that Roman could see his tablet as well. He probably had rug burns on his knees from being down on the carpet all day long.
Do not think about rug burns right now,Roman chided himself.
“I first thought that I could survey your things and make a determination myself between what should stay and what should go,” Ezra began, “but I soon realized that I have no idea what’s precious to you, so instead, I created a catalog.” He scrolled through a grid of photographs—hundreds of them. “If you want to keep something, click on the green check and if you want to discard it, click on the red X.”
Roman took a cursory look at the items on Ezra’s tablet and was astonished at the time and effort he’d put into creating what was essentially an inventory of all his crap.
“Ezra, how did you do all this?”
“It’s a very simple If…Then program, so basic it’s actually called BASIC.” Ezra smiled at his own joke. “Once you’ve made your selections, I’ll compile the data and proceed accordingly. But, really, there is a larger question I must ask you.” He glanced at Roman briefly before staring at someplace just beyond his right ear. Roman recalled the day before when Ezra had commented on his prolonged eye contact. Roman hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable, but he did have a hard time looking away.
“How long did it take you to do all this?” Roman asked, still stuck on the elaborateness of this undertaking.
“I just finished,” he said happily.
“Have you taken any breaks today?”
“I used the restroom a couple of times. And drank water. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. Have you eaten anything?”
Ezra’s face looked troubled. “Sir, I don’t mean to offend, but your refrigerator is terribly disorganized and beyond that, I’m not sure you have anything I would want to eat.”
The thought that his housekeeper was likely starving was terribly upsetting to Roman, especially since one of his missions in life was to feed people healthy, delicious meals. He told Ezra to bring his tablet with him into the kitchen, that they’d get dinner sorted and then Ezra could finish his update.
“What do you like to eat?” Roman asked. His sleeves were already rolled up, prepared to cook Ezra the gourmet dinner he surely deserved.
Another look of uncertainty clouded Ezra’s face. “I’m very particular.”
