Page 68 of King of Hollywood
I tried to be quiet, despite the fact that Felix had assured me that he was a deep sleeper, because it was only polite.
From six a.m. to noon, I worked my way through the first floor, the kitchen, the dining room, and living room. From noon to five, I scrubbed my way through the second floor—which, to my mounting horror, housed a whole plethora of rooms that were filled to the brim with junk.
The clutter that lined the halls was just the tip of the iceberg, and that only became clearer with each door I opened.
Letters, paintings, posters. Old, dated furniture. Portraits and pictures of people I didn’t recognize in black and white, that I could only assume were Felix’s family. A tarot deck that looked about a thousand years old. Knick-knacks and memorabilia from what looked like the mid 1900s. And in the back room at the end of the hall, I found a very memorable, very large coffin tucked away in a surprisingly dustless corner.
The cats watched me as I worked around it, but I found I didn’t mind the company. At least…when Dolly wasn’t swiping at my head.
“You’ve got a very pretty father,” I informed them as I worked my way through the coffin room. “You’re very lucky. Mine is quite a bit uglier than yours is.”
They both seemed to approve of this statement, and left me alone when I headed into the next room.
I didn’t throw away any of Felix’s things, as that wasn’t my place. But I did clean them up, organizing them as best I could, and freeing them from cobwebs and dust.
I avoided the third floor where Felix’s bedroom was, so that I wouldn’t wake him. I was quite curious what his sleeping face would look like but that felt rude—and I didn’t want to disturb him. Especially when I was about to install cameras in his kitchen and by his front door.
I chose both locations for specific reasons. Most importantly, I was unlikely to see anything inappropriate with either camera—I wanted to observe him, not violate his privacy. The camera at the front would allow me to see people coming and going. And, the kitchen camera meant when Felix ate dinner, I could join him, even from my computer at work.
Finally, around six p.m., when I was dust-worn and gritty, I made my way back downstairs. Pulling out the box I’d brought that housed the surveillance equipment, I tugged on my apron—the cleaning one, not the cooking one—and got to work.
Felix had never been awake during the daylight hours before, and I hadn’t expected that to change. He was a creature of habit as much as I was. Perhaps I’d been too loud when I was cleaning and disturbed him?
Or perhaps it had been the chipper way I’d whistled while I worked. Either way, like usual, my guard was down when Felix was in my general vicinity. Which was why I hadn’t realized he was there.
“You know, if you wanted to take photos of me you would’ve been better off installing the camera in the living room,” Felix said, startling the bejesus out of me and nearly making me fall on my ass. “I’m hardly ever in here.”
I paused, rigid—and very, very slowly turned my head to look at him.
I knew what I probably looked like. A kid with his hand stuck in a damn cookie jar. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out. But…my guilt melted away the second I actually saw him.
“Thank you for cleaning my house, Marshall.” Felix was sleepy-soft, wearing the pajamas that had sparked this idea in the first place. “It hasn’t been this nice in years.” There was a dazed sort of look on his face that reminded me of the first time that I’d come over here, like he was still half-asleep. Felix leaned against the doorway, his cats looping through his legs as he blinked blearily up at me, a soft smile on his lips.
I checked my watch. Seven o’clock.
He wasn’t supposed to be up yet.
I squinted at him, annoyed.
“Why are you awake?” I accused him. “You shouldn’t be awake for hours.”
Why wasn’t he freaking out?
That did not look like the face of a man who had just discovered his neighbor-lover putting cameras up in his home.
Felix yawned, stretching his arms over this head. The hem of his pajama top lifted up, flashing me a delicious peek of his pale, flat belly. Do not get hard, Marshall. Not while installing cameras in your boyfriend’s kitchen.
“Why are you putting a camera in my kitchen, Marshall?” Felix countered sleepily, not sounding nearly as offended as he probably should have. Touché.
His lips curled up into a sly little smile. “Did you miss me?”
I scoffed, “As if.”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, lowering his arms, that lovely span of naked belly covered once again. I licked my lips, my pulse skittering. His gaze snapped to my throat, and I must’ve been imagining things because it almost sounded like he groaned. “I’m not mad, Marshall.”
I squinted at him, sure he was lying.
Hell, I’d be mad if I caught someone putting cameras in my house.
