Chapter 15 Mateo
MATEO
Yeah, I was officially addicted, strung up, and horny for the bagel guy.
Who could blame me? The sex was out of this world. We’re talking “wrung out, staring at the ceiling, arms and legs spread like a starfish while gasping for breath in a meteor-like shower of post-orgasmic waves” hot.
Ten-minute sneaky booty calls weren’t enough now. We craved skin-to-skin action and we didn’t deprive ourselves.
I wound up at Rob’s house every other night under the pretense of our truce…
you know, for the sake of a fund raiser.
I showed him how to cut tomatoes and onions without slicing off a finger, and Rob showed me his grandfather’s recipe book.
We’d comment on interesting bagel flavors—sundried tomato and asiago cheese, jalapeno and cheddar—and which cream cheese might go best.
Night after night was spent teaching Rob new culinary skills while he shared feel-good stories about the bagel shop of his youth.
Sometimes he’d pause to tease my control-freak tendencies, and I’d shoot back a snarky reply that I had no desire to go to the ER and hope someone knew how to repair a chopped-off thumb.
Lightly barbed words led to laughter, gentle bumps of elbows or hips, and twenty minutes later, he’d be balls deep inside me, pounding my ass as I moaned into his pillow.
It was truly some of the most incredible sex I’d ever had in my life.
No kidding.
I’d passed out in his bed last night for the second time in three days and woken up in a panic. I’d dressed quickly, double-checked to be sure I had my cell and my keys, then headed for the door.
“Hey. C’mere,” Rob had murmured, lifting his head.
I’d frozen for a beat before going to his side. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you later.”
“Mmm. Kiss me.”
He’d been half-asleep and I hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, so I’d pressed my lips to his forehead, inhaling his scent and wishing I could slip under the covers without worrying that anyone would figure out that our pizza war had taken an interesting twist.
It seemed as if my cousins at least should have clued in that there was more than unrequited lust on my side happening here. No one said a word. I couldn’t decide if we were great actors or…maybe they were.
My mom was the one who made me a little nervous.
She showed up regularly at the pizzeria with a bejeweled Aunt Sylvie dressed from head to toe in her signature animal prints to gush about the nice young man next door. And of course, they’d vote for our “bake-off” samples each week, and give their two cents.
Aunt Sylvie, honest to a fault: “Your bagel is doughy, Mateo. I don’t like it.”
Ma, also honest, but with a lighter touch: “It’s not bad. It’s just…I think it’s maybe not your strength, honey. But your marinara is far superior.”
Aunt Sylvie: “Not even a contest.”
But it was a contest.
There were posters all over town promoting the bake-off and urging customers to participate and show support for the Big H Hawks. It was good for the community, good for the football team, good for our respective businesses.
I was pretty sure Boardwalk Pizza would win this hands down, but it was beginning to feel less and less as if it mattered. Weird.
Okay…that was a slight exaggeration. I wanted to kick ass and gloat while I rode Rob’s cock and—
Whoa. Chubby alert.
I cleared my throat and tuned into the meeting Amber had called to give us all an update.
“I’ll make this quick.” Amber eyed her clipboard, her curls spilling loose from her hair tie. “Boardwalk Pizza is leading by a teensy margin.”
“Teensy?” Vanni scoffed. “How teensy is teensy?”
“Bigger than your dick,” Jimmy quipped, holding a hand up for a high five.
My lips quirked at the sophomoric humor, but I ignored my idiot cousins and kept a straight face.
My gaze might have wandered to the big man across the counter; that couldn’t be helped.
For one thing, Rob looked good enough to eat in a snug-fitted tee that matched his eyes and accentuated his beefy biceps.
And for another thing…I ached from last night’s sexathon.
Christ, we’d been positively voracious. I had a bruise on my hip and if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d left a wicked hickey on Rob’s right pec.
“Three points,” Amber replied.
“Yup. We’re killin’ it.” That was Vanni again.
I had a feeling my cousin’s over-the-top boasting was his version of flirting, and shockingly…it might have been working. Amber’s blush ruined the annoyed glance she shot my cousin.
“For now, yes. But Rob and I have some yummy surprises in the works, so…don’t rest on your laurels, boys.
We’re gonna kick your booties.” She held a hand up to Rob for a high five, then tapped her clipboard.
“Last item on my list is actually kind of a big one. As I mentioned, our online campaign is racking up some big numbers and well…Mrs. Mulveney came up with an interesting idea to make our finale into more of a grande finale and have it coincide with the alumni game the first weekend in December. We can reach out to some other former players and maybe ask them to be judges.”
“Not a bad idea,” Sal spoke up. “You should ask the new QB too. That kid’s pretty popular, and he can play.”
Amber beamed. “Yes! I love that. I’ll get a couple of foodie influencers involved. If they hype us up over the next few weeks, we might go viral. And I don’t need to tell you how amazing that would be for business. Not just for us, but for the whole town.”
Vanni whooped, Jimmy and Sal offered Amber a fist bump, and I pondered the scope of what could turn into a larger than anticipated event during the holidays.
Haverton was used to accommodating tourists, but we were still a small beachside town.
We’d have to talk to the mayor and city council to be sure Haverton was ready to deal with parking, traffic, and portable toilets.
“This thing has taken on a life of its own,” I commented under my breath, sidling next to Rob.
“Yeah. What have we done?”
His deadpan delivery was funny, but his expression had a haunted quality I knew all too well.
As soon as the meeting adjourned, I pulled Rob into my office with a weak excuse about wanting to make sure he wasn’t stealing any recipes. My cousins definitely didn’t buy it, but Jimmy had opened the door for Mr. Smith and it was time to get to work.
I handed Rob a water bottle and pointed at the lone chair behind my desk. “Sit.”
He flopped into the seat and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, head low. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”
I plucked the water bottle from his fingers, uncapped it, and held it up again. “Drink. You’re pale.”
Rob obeyed, his gaze locked on the scuffed tile floor. “Careful. Someone might think you care.”
“I just don’t want you passing out in my restaurant. You can do that next door.”
“You’re all heart, Cavaretti.”
I nudged his knee gently. “Hey, you know I’m kidding. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just…light-headed.”
“Panic attack?”
Rob furrowed his brow. “I don’t think so. I haven’t had a panic attack in years. I guess I’m a little stressed.”
I considered him thoughtfully. “I get it.”
He took a gulp of water. “I have anxiety. I’m on meds. That’s not something I share lightly, so…”
I made a zipped-lips motion. “Understood. You know what you need?”
“A blowjob and some lorazepam?”
“Maybe, but I was thinking…we should go surfing.”
He snorted. “Now?”
I stepped on his foot to annoy him. “Not now. Some of us have to work, hotshot. Tomorrow morning.”
“Uh-huh. Why surfing?”
“ ’Cause it’s fun. And it’s not bagels, it’s not pizza, and there’s no football involved. Just you and Mother Nature. The ocean is a great equalizer. Everyone could use a reminder that there’s something bigger out there than the BS in our heads, you know?”
Rob cocked his chin as he sat back. “Are we friends? ’Cause that feels…like something a friend would suggest.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. “Gross. Don’t get gooey on me, Vilmer.”
His eyes twinkled with mirth. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Later that evening, I brought my surfboard and the chicken parmesan my mom had left in my fridge to Rob’s house.
We ate on the sofa, watching sports highlights and arguing about NFL player stats and our favorite flavors of cream cheese.
Squabbling about who was wildly overpaid and why no one in their right mind would ever put pumpkin-maple cream cheese on a bagel was more fun than it should have been.
And yeah, I enjoyed the mundane chore of cleaning the kitchen with him more than I should admit. That didn’t mean anything. Other than…
Maybe we were friends now.
That wasn’t so terrible. Rob was a good guy. Once we got over this insatiable desire, it would be nice to be friends. But I sort of hoped the sex part wouldn’t end any time soon. It was too damn good.
Somehow, Rob instinctively read my body and knew exactly how hard to push me.
I liked it rough, but not too rough. I liked being brought to the edge of pleasure, but I hated a prolonged tease.
I liked his fingers in my ass, but I preferred his cock.
He knew all that and still managed to surprise me and leave me hungry for more.
I lay on my side, studying the shape of him in the dark. His broad shoulders, chiseled muscular biceps, the sharp slope of his forehead, and his neatly trimmed beard. Rob embodied strength and safety, and yet…he carried demons with him tonight.
Don’t ask me what I was thinking, ’cause I really had no explanation for leaning in to press a kiss on his forehead. Rob stirred and mumbled incoherently but didn’t wake up. Thank God.
I wouldn’t have known how to explain my uncharacteristic twinge of tenderness or the fierce impulse I had to go to battle and fight whatever caused him anxiety.
It was so unlike me that I was momentarily worried I’d come down with the flu or something.
Or maybe this was how people felt about friends they slept with? If so, I wasn’t sure I liked it.