11. Diaz
Diaz
“Okay, Peter. Two challenges down, one to go.” The associate producer, Leah, shifted in her folding chair across from me, eyeing the tablet balanced on one knee.
“Before we talk about the finale, let’s go back to the Claus and Effect challenge.
What was your initial reaction when you found out it was a blind technical bake? ”
I leaned back in my chair and blew out a long breath toward the rafters. “Am I allowed to swear?”
A grin broke out on her face. “Always.”
“In that case . . . ,” I started, pausing to rub my palms together. Somebody had to keep these producers on their toes. “My first thought was, ho, ho, holy shit, we’re fucked.”
Leah belted out a laugh, obviously thrilled with my grade-A soundbite.
“Oh, that’s absolutely making the cut.”
“I aim to please. I don’t know if you know it, but my idea of baking is usually heating up a store-bought cookie in the microwave, and even then, I usually just end up melting the damn thing.
Thankfully, I have a partner who knows what he’s doing.
” I pressed a hand to my chest. “Or at least, knows better than I do.”
“So, you trusted Matty to take the lead?”
The question softened something in me before I could stop it.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “And honestly? That’s probably the biggest difference between our first bake and now.”
Leah tilted her head. “How so?”
I glanced past the cameras toward the empty baking stations, my smile turning quieter around the edges.
“For that first challenge, we were both trying to steer the ship. Matty had his ideas, I had mine, and instead of working together, we kept accidentally smacking each other in the face with . . . the oars.” I paused. “Metaphorically. Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” Leah echoed with a laugh.
“I can assure you that no baseball players were harmed in the making of the pavlova.”
“Good to know.”
An image of Matty standing beside me in that barn, eyes laser-focused on the measuring cup in his hands, bottom lip clenched between his teeth, flashed across my brain.
So damn focused. So damn cute.
“Yesterday felt different,” I told Leah. “We stopped trying to prove who was right and started paying attention to what the other person needed.”
The words hung there for a second longer than I intended.
Leah noticed too. I could tell by the look on her face.
“And that worked better?” she asked.
“Much better. Turns out, when you let the control freak control things, everybody wins.”
“And if Matty is the control freak, what does that make you?”
“The moral support and eye candy,” I told her, turning on my most lethal smile. “Obviously.”
I shifted in my seat, wincing when every muscle below the waist protested. It had been a long time since I’d danced my ass off like that, and I was feeling every second of it this morning.
When production had asked us to wear our most festive holiday looks for today’s interview, I’d known right away which shirt to bring. It was a maroon button-down my sister, Marianna, had thrifted last year, one embroidered with tiny, delicate reindeer in various sexual positions.
She called it my Comet Sutra shirt, as in “On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen.” It was a crowd pleaser at every team holiday function, and after spending most of the day doing interviews, it was safe to say the Sleigh the Bake production team were fans, too.
Leah had also asked me to keep the top two buttons undone for “audience appeal,” though I was pretty sure that was just producer code for looking freshly fucked on camera.
To be fair, it was true.
I was freshly fucked.
I didn’t even have to try to turn on the charm today. Not when I was still riding the high of spending yet more time in Matty’s bed.
After sucking him off last night, the two of us had climbed into the cabin shower, one barely big enough to hold the two of us. That hadn’t deterred him from jerking me off until I’d come against his stomach. Embarrassingly quickly, I might add.
And after that . . . we’d just talked.
Like we used to, but better.
He’d told me about the renovation projects he still had planned for his farmhouse, and I’d bragged about the trip to Disneyworld I had planned for the offseason with my nieces and nephew.
He’d also helped me brainstorm what gift to buy for Clarke and Soren’s baby shower.
Stupid Pink had already bought out all the bath toys on the registry, even though I had clearly called dibs months ago.
Asshole.
When Matty had finally drifted off, he’d done so with one arm resting beneath my head and the other possessively on my thigh tangled with mine. So what if I’d spent a little time just looking at him after that?
Fucking sue me.
It wasn’t every day that I got to share my bed with a freckle-faced, bisexual baseball star.
And yes, Matty Miller had freckles everywhere.
There was one patch right where his shoulder met his neck that I was weirdly invested in, a cluster of freckles that curved upward in a crooked little line that reminded me of one of those dot puzzles I’d done when I’d been a kid. The kind that came on the back of a diner menu.
Falling asleep playing connect the freckles on my teammate’s naked body certainly hadn’t been on my bucket list. Waking up to his palm wrapped around my cock had just been an added bonus.
“I, uh, woke up hungry,” he’d murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Oh yeah? Lolly’s cinnamon rolls?”
“Something . . . heartier.” He’d licked his lips, eyes dropping to where his hand was working me in slow, lazy strokes. “Thought I’d have some breakfast in bed.”
I’d let out a low, surprised laugh.
I’ve created a monster.
I’d threaded my fingers through his messy strawberry-blond hair and held him still for my kiss, morning breath be damned. When we’d finally come up for air, I’d gently guided his head lower.
“Then by all means, tesoro . . . dig in.”
There’d been no more talking after that.
Needless to say, the only thing on the menu this morning had been my cock. And despite it being Matty’s first ever blow job, he’d swallowed every drop like it was his morning protein shake.
Then again, the whole “protein in semen” thing was a myth.
Something no doubt contrived by a group of sad, undersexed frat boys in a desperate attempt to convince women that blow jobs were good for them.
Swear to God, if I ever had a son, the first thing I was going to teach him was that most straight men had no clue what women actually wanted, and pretending they did was one of the dumbest, most common mistakes guys made.
And this was coming from the dude who had never so much as kissed a woman.
Just ask, fellas. It’s not that hard.
“Peter?”
I blinked, suddenly aware that Leah had been waiting for an answer while I’d waxed poetic about freckles and blow jobs.
“Sorry.” I rubbed the back of my neck, buying myself another couple of seconds. “Would you mind repeating the question?”
“I was asking about your friendship outside of the show? There’s noticeable chemistry between you two on camera.”
Chemistry.
She didn’t know the half of it.
I shifted in my chair again, one ankle crossing over my knee. The overhead lights were hot as hell, but somehow not nearly as warm as the thought of my man.
My man? Fuck.
The thought hit me so hard, I nearly laughed out loud. When had Matty Miller gone from the teammate I was secretly lusting after to mine in my head?
“Matty and I go way back,” I settled on, letting myself relax into the answer. “We’ve been teammates for several years now, so there’s already a lot of trust there. Sometimes, we butt heads, but at the end of the day . . .”
Leah nodded enthusiastically for me to continue.
“It works for us.” My voice softened before I could stop it. “He keeps me grounded. I remind him not everything has to be perfect all the time. Together, we feel pretty unstoppable. There’s nothing we can’t conquer,” I added lightly, “except, maybe, another cookie box.”
Leah snorted. “Fair enough. Any final thoughts before we wrap?”
I leaned back, letting her question settle over me. My mind flashed through no less than a dozen different answers, some less appropriate for television than others.
Final thoughts?
That I was scared as hell of screwing things up (again) with Matty, but even more afraid of never trying.
That even though our team was falling apart and I had missed out on making another All-Star team, I was having the time of my life baking fucking cookies with him.
That I didn’t know what we were yet, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t want it, whatever it was, to stop.
Instead, I smiled at Leah and gave her the safe, camera-friendly version.
“I think we’ve still got a lot left to prove,” I said easily. “But I’m proud of how far we’ve come. At the beginning of this competition, Matty and I were trying so hard not to screw up that we forgot to actually enjoy ourselves. And now? It feels like we’re finally having fun again.”
Leah’s expression warmed.
“Even if we don’t win,” I continued, “I got to spend time with one of my best friends, meet some incredible people, and help shine a light on a cause we care about. That matters more than any trophy.”
The camera light blinked off.
“That’s a wrap on you, Peter,” Leah said, unclipping the microphone clipped to my shirt. “We’ll see you tomorrow for the final bake.”
“Hell yeah, you will.” I stood up and stretched, already scanning the barn for Matty. “But for now, I gotta go cheer on my boys.”
I waved to her and the rest of the crew, already racing out of the barn. I didn’t miss the way a couple of the makeup team eyed my chest appreciatively. Looked like Comet was doing his job.
The All-Star game started in less than two hours, which meant I still had plenty of time to squeeze out a couple of more orgasms with Matty. Three, maybe, if we skipped the post-blowie cuddling.
Nah, fuck that.