Page 38 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

We’re so connected I know the moment he awakens, even though he doesn’t make a sound.

“Moving day.” My voice is chipper, as though my life hasn’t been thrown off its axis for the second time in a month. “I thought we could take some loads, sweep the place out, and set it up.”

He turns to look at me, his elbow on the bed, head in his hand, making no secret that he’s assessing me like I’m some type of math problem.

“I could stay here in the compound if you want.” For a moment, he reminds me of Rob, an old boyfriend who liked to play thepoor, poor pitiful me card at every opportunity. But no, his offer is sincere.

“If you want, Varro, but you’re my friend and I’d like us to live in the cottage. Together.”

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. A few moments later, we’re packing, discussing what we might need in our new home and what should stay here. We really do make a good team. We agree on everything. Well, almost.

I look at my phone and think about putting on some fun music, but decide not to. These things have planned obsolescence. Either the phone itself or the solar battery will play out one day, and our music will disappear, as will our food and our clothes. The air mattresses will spring leaks, the computer will cease to function, the solar-powered lantern will fail, and the generator will run out of fuel.

The energy I was filled with only moments ago leaks out of me like a deflating balloon until I stop my thoughts from spiraling.

“Hell. What am I saving it for?” I say loud enough for Varro to wonder why I’m talking to myself. After turning on dance tunes, our work speeds up as our energy rises, and Varro asks me to put one particular song on repeat until he can sing along in English with every word—“Don’t Worry Be Happy.”

Was it only an hour ago that I wondered how Varro and I could put our spat—and our DEFCON-level-one-attraction—behind us? Because we’re managing to amiably haggle over what goes and what stays in between songs as we bump hips whenever we pass each other.

Perhaps this will work, after all.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Marcus Fabius Varro

“Can you teach me how to drive Jenny?” I’ve been wanting a turn at the wheel since the other day when Laura pushed on the pedal and the vehicle scooted forward as if by magic.

Laura’s brow furrows. “Now? We’ve got a house to move into.”

I shrug, trying to hide my eagerness. “What better time to learn? We’ll get there faster if we both know how to drive.”

She sighs, but I catch the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “That made absolutely no sense, gladiator,” she gripes as she gets out of her seat and walks over to my side, motioning for me to trade places. “Fine, but if you crash our only mode of transportation, you’re carrying everything to the cottage on your back.”

I grin, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Agreed.”

Laura slides in beside me, her thigh pressing against mine in the cramped space. She walks me through the basics: ignition, gas, brake. It all seems simple enough until I actually try to move.

The UTV lurches forward, and Laura yelps, grabbing the dashboard. “Gently!” she shouts over the engine’s purr. “It’s not a chariot!”

I ease off the gas, and we settle into a more reasonable pace. As we bump along the uneven terrain, I can’t help but laugh. “This is incredible! It’s like riding a mechanical horse! Vulcan himself would be proud.”

Laura relaxes beside me, her initial tension melting into laughter. “They called them horseless carriages when they were new. And on this terrain, this baby goes about a tenth as fast as a car would go on a highway.”

When we reach the cottage, I’m exhilarated, and my turmoil from last night is behind me. Laura’s hair is a wild mess from the wind, and her cheeks are flushed with excitement.

“Not bad for your first time,” she admits as we unload our belongings.

I move to help as Laura struggles with a particularly heavy bin, but she waves me off. “I’ve got it. Just…” she pants and puffs a lock of hair off her face, “giving myself a workout.”

I watch her lurch unsteadily toward the door. “You know, in my time, we had these things called gladiators. They were known for their strength and skill.”

Laura sets the bin down with a huff. “Oh yeah? And I suppose you were the strongest of them all?”

I puff out my chest playfully. “Naturally. They called me ‘Varro the Invincible’.”

She snorts, but I catch the smile she’s trying to hide. “Alright, ‘Varro the Invincible’. How about you put those legendary muscles to use and handle the heavy lifting? I’ll carry the pillows. When we’re all set up, you can show me how to make one of those brooms you mentioned.”

I nod, grabbing a bundle of leftover stalks we used for thatching. “As you wish. But just remember, even invincible gladiators expect payment for their services.”

---