Love and History (The Script Club #6) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: Gay, GLBT, M-M Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: The Script Club Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
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I shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’re not okay.” Holden stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and immediately started wringing his hands. “If you’re having any complicated feelings regarding what occurred between us, we should discuss them now.”

“Dude. I’m fine. I swear.”

“My name is Holden, not dude. And you’re being far too agreeable to be fine.”

A smile tugged the corner of my mouth. “I’m always agreeable.”

“No, you’re an incorrigible provocateur who enjoys needling me to distraction. I’m sorry to press, but it’s not like you to agree to read Shakespearean quotes or study history without a snide comment or two.”

That made me laugh. “You know me too well. I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. Work stuff, family stuff…but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Holden fixed me with an intense look as he opened the door again. “Okay. Um…if I can be of any assistance, let me know.”

Now, this was where I’d usually tease him again. And this was where he’d get mad, and this was where we’d lose the thread of common ground we’d briefly shared. We’d call it our version of normal and breathe a sigh of relief that we’d dodged an ugly bullet.

But I didn’t feel like slipping into an old role again. I did it at work, I did it for my brother…I didn’t want to do it now.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I thanked him and smiled…and Holden smiled back.

And just like that, every niggling worry I’d carried with me all day evaporated.

Everything was going to be okay.

5

HOLDEN

When I burst out the front door the following morning, Ezra was waiting for me on the porch. I smiled sheepishly, juggling a backpack, a costume, and a travel mug filled to the brim with java.

“Nine thirty-one, slacker.” He tapped his watch in mock censure and tugged the dry cleaning bag. “Let me help.”

“I’ve got it. I’ll drop everything if I try to hand one thing over.”

“Want me to drive?”

“No, thanks. I have a few props in my trunk to transport.” I stalked to my no longer trusty and very rusty red Honda parked at the curb and attempted to set my mug on the hood of my car. My backpack fell from my shoulder and started a chain reaction. The travel mug slipped, and I was seconds from dropping the costumes when Ezra stepped in.

He righted the mug and pushed my backpack into place, then jiggled the handle. “Open the door.”

“I can’t. My keys are in my pocket.” I couldn’t reach them without throwing everything on the ground.

In a way, it was Ezra’s fault that I was out of sorts, running late, and carrying more than I could manage. I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t notice my wandering gaze or embarrassing blush, because this time I wasn’t wearing a darn hat. But he was distracting as usual in a form-fitted tee that warred with his thick biceps, his artfully mussed damp hair, and that sunny smile.

My racing pulse at the mere sight of him leaning casually against the porch banister was my first clue that I wasn’t as immune to him as I’d hoped. And now this.

“Which pocket? I’ll get ’em,” he offered.

“Front right pocket.” I held my breath when he slipped his fingers inside and fished out my car keys.

“Got it.” He opened the door and helped toss things into the trunk, then slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt.

I wiped my clammy palms on my shorts, realizing I’d never been in a car with Ezra. This felt strange. We shared spaces in the house, but not out in the real world. I glanced up at the old house and mumbled, “Wish me luck” before getting behind the wheel.

Two blocks into the drive, we started talking over each other.

“Did you—”

“I read the—”

I chuckled. “You first.”

“Okay. My original plan was to strut around in the special secret robe as agreed, and call it a day. But my pride wouldn’t allow me to show up to a smarty-pants party looking like an idiot, so…I pulled up the links you forwarded and did my homework.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, supposedly, Henry the Eighth was attractive, charismatic, athletic, and accomplished. He wrote music, spoke six languages, and was skilled at archery, fencing, and wrestling. He also had a thing for making romantic conquests…and then having them killed for treason. I’m assuming I’m Henry before the crazy set in.”

“You can play him however you’d like.”

“Artistic license, eh?”

“Yes. The entire fair is an homage to that period in history, but we cover a broad spectrum. Henry the Eighth had been dead for over forty years by the time Shakespeare became a major influencer. And his daughter, Queen Elizabeth, had been on the throne for decades. Yet we portray all three of them in their prime. It’s historically inaccurate to say the least, but we give the public what they want.”



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