But, maybe he wasn’tas na?ve as I thought, since he responded to my question with, “Rumor has it that a boy like me can find something fun up here.”
I raised an eyebrow, slightly gasped. “And what kind of fun did you have in mind? What are you saying?”
I should have never asked those questions for two reasons. One, I was still his employer, and stepped over my boundaries as a professional. And two, Kent Tacoma, I realized for a brief moment, was too perfect for me, too model-handsome, too beautiful. Shame on me for asking those questions.
He fingered the queer horror novel in his hands and ignored me. Instead, he asked, “What are youdoing here, Robert? Shouldn’t you be at home writing?”