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Oliver laughed harder. “God, you would take that one thing away from that, wouldn’t you?” He shook his head, his expression fond. “And no. I saw it on a video, but it was really sad. It was about this shitty aquarium that never cleaned out its animal tanks, and this protest group was trying to get it shut down.”
“Did they?” Victor asked a little angrily.
Oliver nodded with a small smile. “Yep. About a week after the video went viral.”
“Good riddance,” Victor said quietly.
Oliver nodded, then fell silent, and Victor realized they didn’t have to fill the rest of the silence between them. It was nice to just exist, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt like that before.
Chapter8
Oliver was also a good liar.He had to be, considering the job he worked. He had to morph himself into some fantasy and maintain it with his clients for the duration of their date. And he had to fake orgasms a lot, which was even harder than it sounded.
But he’d never struggled so hard trying to play it cool in his life than he had in the car with Victor. He smiled, he laughed, he made ridiculous jokes to hear Victor do that sweet, small, breathy laugh that he’d been thinking about since the night before.
Victor was looking at him with big moon eyes like he’d been doing before—the ones Oliver didn’t fully believe were real. He was getting addicted.
They finished the drive to the aquarium in silence, and then Victor directed him to the back gate, where a guard eventually let them through after checking Victor’s phone for the invite. The back lot looked kind of terrifying in the same way hotels and theaters did. All industrial and damp and kind of dingy—like it was the dark side of hospitality.
He pulled into the single visitor’s parking spot, then took a few nervous breaths as Victor reached for the door handle. “Um. They’re not going to mind that I’m here, right? This isn’t some old friend of yours and your ex’s?”
Victor shook his head as he glanced over his shoulder. “No. I had to donate a lot of money for this. And I’m not really sure the head biologist here liked it, but I don’t think he wanted to turn down the cash.”
“Money really can buy anything,” Oliver muttered.
Victor’s gaze turned sad. “A lot of things. But not anything.”
Oliver felt like an ass as he got out of the car and followed Victor to an old white fountain with a dolphin statue at the top and no water in the basin. He did hold a little bitterness in his chest for men like Victor who’d grown up with a cabinet full of silver spoons to cut his teeth on. Victor was human, so of course he’d wanted for things, but not the same way Oliver had.
Victor had never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. He’d never worried about his electricity, or his rent, or his car payment. And granted, Oliver wanted to live like that. He wanted to stop worrying all the time that everything he had would suddenly disappear and he’d be left that same terrified child on the streets.
He just hoped that when it happened, he never forgot where he came from.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” Victor said. His cane clinked gently on the ground as they came to a stop by the fountain.
Oliver groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Seriously. Is your job being a martyr?”
“My job is a CEO,” Victor answered honestly.
God, this man. “I meant,” he clarified with only a hint of sarcasm, “you seem to take responsibility for everything that makes people feel bad.”
Victor shrugged. “It’s easier that way. Keeps the peace.”
“Makes you miserable,” Oliver added. “I’ve been a dick, like, three times now, and you keep saying sorry to me. Just…I’m not gonna abandon your ass if you call me out on my bullshit.”
Victor looked at him, then let out a huff through his nose and shook his head. “I spent a lot of years holding my tongue because the one thing I hate more than anything else in the world is fighting.”
Oliver dropped down onto the lip of the fountain and looked up at Victor, squinting behind his shades. “We don’t know each other well enough to fight. I mean, we might have to have words if you try to tell me to put ketchup on a hot dog, but…”
Victor’s face did something complicated.
Oliver crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me you put ketchup on your hot dogs.” Victor stayed silent, and Oliver realized his expression might not be about the ketchup. “Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten a hot dog. I know rich dudes, Victor. They eat hot dogs!”
Victor started to laugh, this time less quiet. It was a slow rumble of thunder in his chest. “I’ve had a hot dog.”
“But,” Oliver pressed when he sensed there was more.
Victor bit his lip, then let it go. “But not one here in the US.”
