Page 21 of Love and History

Sure enough, he tugged his polo shirt over his head, and dropped it next to the cooler.

I rolled my eyes as I perched on the corner of my bed. “Any excuse to take your clothes off, eh?”

“Now that you mention it, my pants are a little damp.” He made quick work of his khakis, toeing off his shoes and socks. In seconds flat, he was standing in the middle of my bedroom in a pair of black boxer briefs that lovingly cupped his generous package.

Don’t look, don’t look.

I averted my gaze to the elaborate ink design on his torso for a beat and shook my head. No one else on the planet got away with randomly stripping quite like Ezra. He filled every space he entered, conquering unsuspecting citizens with relentless perseverance and jockish charm. I wished I could report that I was immune, but that was a lie.

I was too worn out to fight my body’s amorous reaction. I wasn’t overly concerned, though. I’d never thrown myself at a straight man and I certainly wasn’t about to start now. However…

“Maybe you should change your clothes and come back for your stuff,” I suggested.

He pointed a stern finger at me. “You’re helping me put those groceries away.”

“I will, but I need a minute, so…get dressed first.”

Ezra gave me a pointed look before flopping beside me on the bed. His thick brows formed a V in the middle of his forehead as he twisted to face me.

“So, what happened? You lost your marbles when you realized I was going to win that bet?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t get it. Why do you want to win so bad? Is this really about Henry the Eighth? I mean, c’mon…there’s gotta be other guys who fit that costume and would make better candidates than me,” he said, hiking his thumb toward his chest.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but I think you’d be perfect.”

“Then why not just ask me?”

Was he serious?

“Ididask you,” I snapped irritably. “You said no.”

“Oh. That’s right.” He lay back, bracing his weight on his elbows, looking more at home in my room than I’d ever been. “Well, I didn’t know it meant so much to you. Try again.”

I had nothing to lose but my dignity at this point—and even that was up for debate. So…

“Ezra, will you please be Henry the Eighth for the HRS’s Renaissance in the Park festival?”

“Maybe.”

“Grr!”

Ezra chuckled. “Fine, I’ll do it, Shakespeare.”

“You will?”

“Sure, but I’m taking this up with my union. I won and you’re getting the prize. That’s not fair.”

I rolled my eyes for show, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. His acquiescence was a game changer. I was so darn thankful.

And I supposed what happened next was a result of wanting to convey gratitude in a physical form. Um…so, I hiked my knee on the bed, grabbed his chin, and kissed him.

I kissed Ezra.

My lips were pressed to his lips.

And we just…froze.