Beautifully Stolen - Charity Parkerson Page 0,8

could do was make sure Roman was cared for. “Did my phone survive?”

With a snort and a shake of his head, Roman crossed the room, grabbed Brett’s phone, and passed it his way. Brett didn’t have much battery left and his screen was cracked, but he accomplished his task.

While staring at the phone and clicking around, Brett gave in as gracefully as he could. “If you’re determined to do this, I could really use some pain meds, because I’m pretty sure I’m dying. Also, I’m sending you a list via text of things I need.” He clicked send and focused on Roman. “I just ordered an Uber for you. When you get to the house, type three seven six on the keypad and that will unlock the door. In the cabinet closest to the doorway in the kitchen, there are keys to my cars. Pick one to use while you’re here. There’s a black card in my wallet. Get it. You can use that to buy whatever you need.” If Roman had looked triumphant, Brett might have stopped and saved his pride. Instead, Roman stood there looking ready to jump in and Brett felt... something. “Thank you for everything.”

Roman nodded. “We’re friends. You would do the same for me.”

Brett didn’t know if that was true. Honestly, he wasn’t sure anymore what friendship felt like. It had been a long time since anyone had anything to do with him where they weren’t also wanting something from him. Maybe that was a street that went both ways. Brett also didn’t bother with anyone he wasn’t working with to further their careers. It was possible he didn’t know how to be anyone’s friend. Roman didn’t look at him like a friend. In fact, he watched Brett in a way that didn’t feel friendly in the least. He didn’t know what he felt with Roman around. For whatever reason, though, he didn’t want it to stop. So he would let Roman help. Maybe he would regret it. Maybe he wouldn’t. Only time would tell. At the end of the day, if Roman turned out to be like everyone else, it wouldn’t be the first time anyone had used him, and likely wouldn’t be the last. At least Roman was here now. That was more than he could say about anyone else.

Brett owned a black Range Rover that looked like it needed driving. Between Brett’s list and a much-needed shower, things were taking longer than Roman liked. Every time he thought about Brett’s seemingly lifeless body in his arms while first responders worked to free him from the car, Roman’s stomach started shaking all over again. He needed to get back to Brett. Roman had to admit that snooping through Brett’s room—looking for everything on his list—had been fun... and informative.

Brett didn’t own any nude magazines or visible porn. His room was a clean mess. Like there weren’t any dirty clothes or any trash strewn about, but nothing was folded in his drawers, his bed was unmade, and his closet was a disaster area. The rest of the house was meticulous, giving Roman the impression Brett had a housekeeper, but it seemed he didn’t allow them inside his bedroom. Roman wondered if anyone besides Brett was ever inside Brett’s room. Judging by Brett’s bedside table, he had the means to please himself. Roman kept smiling at the stash of toys Brett kept. That was definitely one detail Roman could use to add to his already vivid fantasies of Brett.

With a bag packed, Roman headed back to the hospital. He had forgotten how much he hated L.A. traffic, but damn, Brett’s Range Rover was nice. It beat the hell out of his twenty-year-old Camry. Roman couldn’t afford to get new car fever. His house and car were paid for and he couldn’t take his clothes off for money forever. In fact, he had really passed the age most people stopped like five years ago. The thing was he wasn’t good at anything and life hadn’t exactly been what he hoped. At nineteen, he had thought he would be famous. When that didn’t turn out the way he hoped, Roman had decided to lean heavily upon the only thing he had going for him. His looks. Roman wasn’t conceited. At least, he didn’t think he was. He was old enough to know that looks faded and being considered handsome wasn’t a talent. Roman knew men in their sixties who still made a lot of money from being

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