Chapter 10 Rob #2
“Nope. I love my mom, but if my sisters and I hadn’t learned some basic skills, we’d have starved. And I do mean basic. I was the king of mac and cheese, omelets, and protein drinks in high school. You have no idea how happy I was that my full ride to Great H included a generous meal plan.”
“You had a scholarship?” he asked, replacing the lid.
“Mmhmm. I wouldn’t have been able to afford a four-year college otherwise. My folks are retired junior high teachers. It wasn’t in the budget. The plan was for me to go to the local community college and transfer after a couple of years on my own dime.”
“But you knew how to play football.”
I inclined my chin. “Yeah. I had a short stint with flag football in elementary school and didn’t play again till freshman year at Spring Creek High. I was a big kid, more chubby than muscular, though. They put me on defense, and it stuck. I wanted to try another position in college, but—”
“Like what?”
“Quarterback.” I grinned at his faux glower and continued.
“Or tight end. Coach wouldn’t hear of it.
He needed me to be a beast…so I was. No complaints here.
Football has given me opportunities beyond my wildest dreams. The memorabilia in the shop is meant to be an acknowledgment of that, in case you’re curious.
I love this town. It’s been good to me.”
“I know I’m gonna sound like a dick, but if I’m hearing correctly, you just admitted to gunning for my job in college, having a limited skill set in the kitchen, and to moving back to town for a victory lap. Which means…I was right about you.”
There was no malice in his tone. It was a straightforward assessment…very on brand for a man who didn’t mince words.
“You’re right about sounding like a dick.
The rest…no. I don’t have your culinary lineage of amazing cooks from the motherland, but my grandfather owned a bagel shop.
After he passed away, my aunt and uncle ran the business for a decade or so, but they’re older now and not interested in the long hours, and there was no one else to pick up the torch.
Including me. I could have moved home, but—” I stopped abruptly, surprised at how much personal info I’d shared.
Had to be the wine. I gestured to the stove. “How much longer till it’s ready?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Mm, it already smells great. I’ll boil some water for pasta.” I could feel Mateo’s watchful gaze as I filled a pot and set it on the burner next to the simmering sauce.
“Why didn’t you want to go home?” he asked softly. “You’re obviously close to your family. Your eyes crinkle when you talk about them…like you miss them.”
“I do.” I topped off our wineglasses to give my hands something to do.
“Not all my memories were great, though. And maybe it’s silly, but my least favorite thing about visiting home is running into shitheads who bullied me mercilessly in grade school and having to act like that crap didn’t leave scars while I sign jerseys for their kids.
My mom likes to say it’s karma doing her work and that I should enjoy it, but… ”
“You don’t,” he finished.
“No. I don’t want to think about being scared all the fucking time and the daily mental ambush. I was too fat, too ugly, too stupid, my clothes weren’t trendy, my backpack was a hand-me-down. I never fit in until I picked up a football. Even then, I was too soft—at first anyway.”
“I’m sorry. Bullies suck.” Mateo frowned, gnawing on his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t be holding grudges on behalf of my younger self, but preteen me was a sensitive kid.
Imagine my horror when I realized some of the things they said about me were true.
Maybe everything. I was chubby, ugly, uncool, and…
gay. That last one was a mind fuck. The kids in my town used ‘gay’ to describe anything unsavory—tacky shoes, a bad movie, a song they didn’t like.
I didn’t want to be gay.” I let out a humorless laugh.
“It got better in high school because of football. Suddenly, I was valuable. My stats were amazing, coaches loved me, my teammates saw me as an asset, and no one made fun of my shortcomings ’cause they liked what I could do on the field. ”
“That’s good.”
“Sure, but I was still gay…very gay. So you might say the accolades were tinged with the kind of fear that eats at your insides. If I wasn’t on a football field, I was a wreck, constantly worrying that someone was gonna figure me out.”
“Sorry. I know how that feels.”
I nodded. Yeah, he probably did.
“It was a bad time, but plenty of kids have it tough in high school.” I shrugged ruefully. “College was my reset, and this town gave me what I needed to start over—self-respect, confidence, acceptance. No one here gives a shit if you’re gay, bi, trans, pan, or whatever.”
“Yet you’re still technically in the closet.” Mateo raised a hand. “Not that I’m judging. Hey, I didn’t come out to my mom or my aunt till my dad died. My cousins knew, but Dad…nope, couldn’t do it.”
“Oh. Was he…”
“A bigot? Sort of. He tried to be open-minded, but he was from a strict Catholic Italian family. He had old-fashioned ideas and I was his only son, only kid…” Mateo waved dismissively.
“It wouldn’t have ended well, but that’s old news.
I’d rather talk about you brown-nosing the whole fucking town with bagels. ”
I snort-laughed. “You’re an asshole, Cavaretti.”
“But you knew that,” he singsonged, a cocky grin tilting one corner of his mouth.
I hid my smile as I opened the bag of spaghetti. I plucked the lid off the pot of boiling water and lowered the heat, then took a handful of dried noodles and broke them in half. A choked gasp interrupted me. I spun toward a wide-eyed, apoplectic Mateo.
“What’s wrong?”
He grabbed the noodles from me, his mouth open in shock and dismay. “What do you mean, ‘What’s wrong?’ You’re murdering spaghetti! You don’t break them in half. Stop. This is…sacrilege!”
I widened my eyes, wisely stepping aside as Mateo dumped the rest of the noodles into the pot, muttering in Italian. “They’re going to the same place and let’s face it, it’s easier to eat shorter pieces of spaghetti.”
Mateo’s deadpan stare was on point. “There is so much wrong with that sentence that I don’t know where to begin.”
I burst into laughter. “Oh, come on.”
“Come on? Pasta is shaped as it’s supposed to be eaten. Breaking it like a heathen is disrespectful. You’re lucky my mom and my aunt didn’t see that.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Lesson learned.”
“Hmph.” Mateo stirred the sauce, adding a smidge of salt.
“You speak Italian.”
He set the spoon down, checking his watch as he turned to face me. “Yeah. My mom was born there. Her family moved to California when she was thirteen, so she grew up speaking both and made sure I did too. Funny thing…my dad’s Italian was terrible.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he tried but it was painful sometimes. And none of my cousins learned. After so many generations here, some things get lost and the definition of home changes. Let’s test these poor, broken noodles.” Mateo declared them perfect and assembled two heaping bowls of spaghetti.
And damn, it was delicious.
We sat at the island and steered conversation toward neutral topics—the new mural at the lifeguard headquarters, rainfall this season, and my thwarted attempts at surfing.
“I spend more time getting tossed in waves than I do standing on the board,” I griped, twirling spaghetti around my fork. “It’s painful, but I swore I’d finally learn how to surf after I retired, and I’m not giving up.”
“It’s all about balance,” Mateo said matter-of-factly.
“You surf?”
“Yeah. I’ll come out with you sometime. Give you some pointers.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I bet you will. I’d rather not end up as shark chum.”
Mateo set a hand on his heart as if wounded. “I thought this was a truce. If so, you’re gonna have to trust me…just a little.”
He was right. And like it or not, I was more interested in him than ever. His strong family bonds, his culinary prowess, and…he could surf too? Yep, very interested.
“You’re right.”
Mateo grinned. “I love those two little words.”
“I bet.” I looked away, hoping to get my smile under control. “Listen, we should talk about the sex…stuff too.”
“Sex stuff,” he repeated with a laugh. “Let’s do that. Although I think sex is the easy part.”
I scoffed in disbelief. “How so? We’re former teammates and neighbors and—what’s so funny?”
Mateo shook his head, lips pursed in amusement. “You’re looking at this all wrong. I get that it’s not ideal. I mean, I barely like you, for fuck’s sake, and the fact that you’re next door, poach—”
“If you say poaching one more time,” I warned, my brow furrowed in irritation.
“All I’m saying is…attraction is a different beast, and maybe different rules apply.
The days of beating myself up over what I want are long gone.
I’m not your old quarterback, and you’re not on the field leading defense for the team.
” He cocked his head mischievously. “Unless you’re into role-playing. We could get our old jerseys out and—”
“Could you be serious, please?” I snapped, irked that my dick was already pulsing with interest. Nailing my QB into the mattress was prime fantasy material.
“Rob, it’s just sex. We’re in our thirties. We know the score. I’m not looking for a boyfriend or any kind of complication. However, I wouldn’t mind riding your cock like a cowboy on a bucking bronco.”He winked and added, “That’s just me being honest.”
My mouth went dry, and all available blood in my body zipped south. I was on the brink of losing my cool and jumping his bones like a sex-starved animal.
“I appreciate your honesty,” I said in a husky tone, leaning back on the barstool, legs spread casually…suggestively. I grabbed my cock through my jeans and met his gaze. “And I’m on board. If you want it, come get it.”