Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
No, that wouldn’t work. I didn’t want Holden to think I was a grade-A dickwad.
My dad always said actions spoke louder than words. Which was a tad ironic coming from him, but he wasn’t wrong. It was smart to accentuate the positives too. So maybe the best thing to do would be to keep quiet for now and do good roomie deeds. Within reason.
I could deal with Rossman on my own and figure out a kosher way to tell him to—
“Oh, my! You went shopping.” Holden leaned on the doorjamb and clutched his chest as if he were about to keel over. “Is that you, Ezra?”
“Yeah, yeah, wise guy. It’s me. I bought everything you accused me of stealing and more. How do you feel about Pop-Tarts?” I waggled my brows and shook the box of cinnamon sugary goodness.
Holden pursed his lips as he sauntered into the kitchen. “I’m not a fan.”
“And that, my friend, is why we’re not friends,” I singsonged.
“Oh, yes, we are!” He hugged the jumbo box of coffee. “Nice work, pal.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don’t drink it all at once.”
He scowled. “Me?”
Be nice, be nice.
“Just kidding.”
I glanced his way as I opened the fridge. I had to give the guy props. He filled out his “Pi for the Win” T-shirt pretty damn well. His sleeves hugged his toned biceps, which was interesting ’cause I didn’t think Holden knew where the nearest gym was, let alone owned a membership. And why the fuck was I staring at his arms?
Pull it together, Marsden.
I slid orange juice and milk onto the top shelf and tried again.
“So…how was your day?”
Holden gave me a suspicious once-over. “I’ve had better.”
“Why? What happened?” I asked.
He didn’t reply right away. Just as I was thinking he wasn’t going to, he slumped into a chair and propped his elbows on the table. “Henry the Eighth quit.”
“Say what?”
“The gentleman who’s played Henry the Eighth at the Renaissance in the Park event for the past three years has resigned from his post. And no one seems to care, except me. Sure, Queen Elizabeth is the big draw, but the king is popular too. We have this fantastic costume—a velvet robe and a chapeau with a halo of white feathers. Such a waste not to use it.” He sighed.
“Why don’t you use it?” I polished an apple on my shirt and chomped into it.
“I’m Shakespeare.”
“Of course you are,” I drawled.
“Well, it suits me. I’m no Henry the Eighth. And neither was Jerry. We need someone with the type of confidence that borders on arrogance. Someone pompous, full of himself, and generally obnoxious. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone like that, would you?”
I froze mid-bite, narrowing my eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’re skirtin’ around something? You’re not asking me to be Henry the fuckin’ Eighth, are you?”
“Oh, no. Don’t be silly. Physically, you’re perfect for the part, and you share a few bombastic aspects of his personality—”
“Hey.”
“But I wouldn’t dream of asking. You’re a busy man. You have an internship and a big exam on the horizon.”
I inclined my head and took another bite. “True dat.”
“Of course, it’s only a couple of hours over two days. And it’s after the bar. Not a huge time commitment at all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“There’s a script too, but it’s very loose. More of an ad-lib scenario that should appeal to someone with a big personality. Whoever takes on the mantle can get by learning a few regal-sounding phrases. And yes, food is complimentary for performers.” Holden tapped a tattoo on the table.
“What kind of food do you have at a Renaissance fair? Hot dogs on stale bread with a side of mutton?”
Holden’s mouth twitched. “Nope. We have turkey legs, corn on the cob, sausage rolls, chicken and biscuits, beef ribs. And so much more. It’s all pretty darn good.”
“I bet.”
“You should come,” he said enthusiastically.
He was definitely up to something. Hmm.
“Right. You’re not trying to trick me into wearing a stupid costume at a freak parade, are you?”
Holden kicked my shin. Hard. “Darn you, you…ape! It’s not a freak parade. It’s a Renaissance fair. We raise money for historical preservation and for animals!”
I furrowed my brow. “Historically preserved animals? Like taxidermy or something?”
“No, a shelter,” he hissed, smacking his hands on the table. “Never mind. It was a terrible idea.”
I grabbed his wrist before he stood and flashed a megawatt grin. “Hey, I was teasing. I respect your dedication to…history. It’s admirable. Kids today rot their brains on video games and TikTok. A majority probably don’t even know that Henry the Eighth was a great guy who sailed to Florida on the Santa Maria with Lewis and Clark.”
Holden crossed his arms and shot a sardonic “I can’t believe anyone could be such a moron” look my way. “You scare me, Ezra.”
I busted up laughing. “Oh, c’mon. I was joking. I know my history.”