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Roman stared at the touchscreen. “You live in a spaceship.”
I snorted. “Closest thing to it.”
He looked all around. He was many inches taller than me and all of his muscles were thick as hell, but even Roman looked dwarfed by the tall ceilings here in the living room.
“It is a gorgeous home, I must say,” he told me. His voice was so rich and deep. Just talking to him felt like having a warm security blanket over me.
“It was the most beautiful house I could find here, and I’m making it even more beautiful every day,” I said. “My contractors are incredible. They’re working hard.”
“Who are you using?”
“Tenny & Beauford,” I said.
Roman nodded. “A couple of their guys installed a new window in my bedroom when it cracked a few years ago. You can trust them.”
“Trust them to do a good job on the house, or trust them not to blab to the media?” I asked.
“Both,” he said, without a hint of doubt in his voice. “I’ve always had a sixth sense about people, and I know that they deserved my trust. I accidentally left forty dollars in cash and a dildo on my coffee table when they were over, and nothing was stolen or gossipped about.”
I snorted. “Wow,” I said. “Wouldn’t expect that from you. Mr. Afraid To Even Talk To Men in a Gay Bar.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Now you’re not just a guy in a gay bar. You’re my client. And that means I will be 100% honest with you.”
“Well, if I had forty bucks and a dildo lying around, it would be an invitation, not a mistake,” I said, grinning. Roman looked at me like he had no idea how to respond. “Just a joke. I make a lot of dumb ones. I apologize in advance.”
“No need to apologize.”
Roman was still looking all around the house like he was an inspector. He’d taken off his blazer after we walked in, and his biceps looked like they were straining to burst out of his crisp white collared shirt. He rolled up the sleeves on his arms as he looked around, and I couldn’t help but enjoy the eye candy as I watched him.
“The point is, you can definitely trust Tenny & Beauford,” Roman finally said, turning back to me.
“You’ve only been here for ten minutes and I already feel safer with you here,” I told him. “And I’m glad you trust them. I do, too. The last thing I need is for some contractors to end up talking to the press. Not exactly in the mood to open up a newspaper and see Theo Castille’s Eight Weird Home Habits as a headline.”
Roman ran his hand along the front door frame. “I will admit, I see what you like about this house. Even if I’m not a fan of the whole automation thing.”
“You don’t use voice controls in your house? It’s incredible. Watch this. Computer, play Queen’s ‘I’m in Love with My Car.’ Oh, and turn the living room lights to setting three.”
Suddenly it was like we were in another world, all of the lights turning from vivid and bright into sultry mood lighting. The opening guitar licks of the song rang out from the speaker system, with better audio quality than any club.
I couldn’t help but dance as soon as the song came on. I sang along to the first few lines, taking off my scarf with a flourish like I was Freddie Mercury working a stage.
Roman was looking at me with a perfectly straight face. Serious as always. He was already acting like a true bodyguard, even here in the house. Like he was a statue, impervious to any of the silly bullshit I did.
I asked the computer to turn off the music, letting out a long breath.
“You have the best poker face of anyone I’ve ever met,” I told him. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or amused or if you want to turn around and high-tail it out of this house.”
“What? Of course I don’t want to leave,” he said, seeming genuinely surprised. He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Okay, 100% honesty. I told you, I just don’t go for… smart things. Smart watches, smart homes, smart tech of any kind. My brother says I’m old-school. Hell, even my mom says that. But my opinion on that doesn’t matter. This is your home, and I want you to be completely comfortable in it.”
“I think the proper term is a Luddite,” I said. “Somebody who hates new technology.”
“I may have been called that once or twice.”
“So do you still survive on foraged food and candlelight in your house?” I asked.
“Even candles are too advanced of a technology for me,” he said with a deadpan straight face.
“Wait. You’re… you’re not—”
“Joking,” he said, a hint of a smile appearing. “See? I can do it, too. Just not very well, apparently.”
