11. Theo
ELEVEN
THEO
Weeks pass.
The Wyoming heat is gone, and crisp autumn breezes have taken its place. Changes happen all around me, the soft orange hues of fall lighting up Main Street, the promise of winter coming sooner than we expect.
With each day, another walk with Matteo passes alongside it.
Our time together is kept like a secret, whispered in hushed tones around an empty field. Every day, I learn something new about him, and we grow closer. We don’t dive into any deep topics, not really, but that seems insignificant compared to the things I’ve learned.
Like the fact that he scratches the back of his neck when he’s nervous and lights up when he talks about God, showing me what true passion looks like. He talks through his homilies with me, helping me explore the intricacies of topics I never cared to look into. I talk about what it was like to play soccer growing up and we make plans that’ll never pan out like visiting Frontier Days in Cheyenne and skiing in the spring.
His friendship has grown to be my cornerstone. I look forward to every Sunday when I can see him in his element, only to spend an hour the following day listening to him pick apart his words. He said I demean myself, but I don’t think he realizes how wonderful he is. Kind, patient, compassionate, the very best of people.
But those same Sundays, I hang off my wife’s arm and say hello to him as if we’ve only spoken a handful of times. Guilt eats at me, but I’m not entirely sure for who. Is it toward Clara for keeping this new friendship a secret, or is it toward Matteo for being the secret itself?
As I watch Matteo stand in front of the church, laughing at a joke Don said, I want to be the one he’s laughing with. He has his head thrown back, his smile wide as wisps of his hair fan across his forehead. He brings Don into a hug, and I wonder what he must have been told to give that gesture. I mean, he’s never hugged me, and I’m his friend. I deserve a hug, don’t I?
Why don’t you just go ahead and pee on him?
“Honey,” Clara says, tugging my arm to get my attention. I startle for a second before focusing back on her. “Are you okay?”
I nod, chuckling weakly as I brush my hand against hers. “I’m fine. What do we have planned for the rest of the day?”
“I’m keepin’ you, that’s what,” Marcy says, suddenly appearing behind me. “It’s time to plan our Fall Festival.”
Clara’s face lights up. “Oh, are you doing that again, Theo? It was so great last year!”
I blush at the compliment. Getting into planning church events was a complete accident. I never intended to organize the Fall Festival last year, but Marcy was unavailable due to her hip replacement and couldn’t do it, so I stepped in. It was a lot of fun, and I’ll admit my head grew just a bit bigger every time someone told me they had a good time. Ever since then, Marcy has declared me the church planner, stating she’s far too busy to organize events.
“Of course he’s doin’ it. I started all the plannin’ but you bet I ain’t finishin’ it,” Marcy says, not allowing me to speak for myself. She lets go of me to hug Clara, squeezing her tightly before kissing her cheek. “You go on with your parents. I’ll have Father Matteo bring your man back in one piece later.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan,” Clara agrees, leaning in for a kiss. “Have fun, honey.”
She places a quick kiss on my lips, brushing her hand across my cheek as she pulls back with a brilliant smile on her lips. At once, I’m reminded of just how beautiful and kind my wife is. I just wish the way she smiled at me right now sparked even a hint of attraction or overwhelming love. Instead, I only feel comfort as she walks away and joins her parents in their car.
“Have you talked a lot with Father Matteo?” Marcy asks as she walks me back into the church.
I try to hold back my snort. I have more than talked to him. I bet I know him even more than she does, but I don’t say that. “Briefly.”
She nods, but I’m confused as she leads me behind the altar. We pass by a hallway with hanging vestments and extra candles to a door I didn’t know was there. She opens it, leading me into a beautiful room full of mosaic windows. “What is this?”
“It’s the rectory,” she says simply as if I’m supposed to know what that means. “I’ll tell the Father to meet you here once he’s done schmoozin’. I have to head home, but he’ll take good care of you.”
I don’t have a chance to ask any questions before she’s gone. I’m still left wondering what the fuck a rectory is and what this has to do with the Fall Festival. I take in what looks like a living room and walk just past it and then it hits me when I see the bed.
Oh shit, I’m in Matteo’s room .
For some reason, a chill washes through me, but that doesn’t stop me from snooping. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. I spy the television in the corner and smile when I see the Xbox we picked out together. I walk into his room and look at how sterile everything is. There are no pictures, no trinkets, nothing but religious texts.
But my attention is drawn to the bed.
Flashes of Matteo sleeping in here hit me, and I feel a bit like a creep, but I’m curious. I’ve only seen him out of his uniform once and that was by complete accident. I’m wandering to his closet before I can stop myself, running my hands across each black shirt I find.
That’s it, Theo. This is weird .
Oh, it’s so weird, but I can’t give up the quest to find Matteo in this room. The man I know isn’t reflected here. He has a personality and a life, while this room is beautiful, it’s a shell.
I jump when the door opens behind me and Matteo’s eyes widen when he sees me. He’s halfway through removing his collar but drops his hands. “Theo? What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t seem angry, just confused, but is that a hint of… amusement in his eyes?
“Marcy,” is all I say as if that’s some magic excuse for everything.
He rolls his eyes and nods. “That’s enough said. If she brought you here, there must be something on her list I’m forgetting.”
Honestly, I’m having trouble remembering anything when Matteo starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, almost purposefully taking his time before he starts to peel his arms through the sleeves. “I was going to change and play some Xbox before I found you here.”
“I—Yeah—No.” That wasn’t a sentence. “I mean, please. Go right ahead. Undress. Shit, that’s not what I meant. Get naked and then put clothes on.”
I have no idea why I’m flustered, but Matteo finds it hilarious. He takes steps until he’s in front of me. My breath hitches at being so close to his naked chest, the warmth he radiates hitting me, my hand itching to do something it shouldn’t. Are priests supposed to be this…
Hot.
…fit?
“Matteo.” I take in a dry gulp. Why the fuck am I acting this way? It’s not as if I haven’t been around half-naked men before. I used to play soccer, and I go to the gym. I’m not completely oblivious to the male form. “What is it?”
He smirks, his dark eyes sparkling in such a mischievous way that it makes my toes curl. He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear accidentally, and I swear I do not shudder. “You have my shirt.”
Shit.
I look down and see that I do in fact have a white T-shirt in my hand. I shove it at him and take a step back. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he laughs. “Did you happen to pick out a pair of sweats for me too?”
My embarrassment fades as I narrow my eyes. “Funny.”
“Exceedingly,” he throws back with a wink. When he walks toward the dresser and pulls out a pair of sweats, I know the right thing to do is turn around, but my feet are glued to the floor. “So, what are you doing here?”
He asks this with his back turned just as he pulls down his pants and Jesus motherfucking Christ he has a nice ass. Round, plump, encased in tight black briefs that look painted on.
Damn it, I want an ass like that.
“Theo?”
I snap out of it when he calls my name. Please, please, please tell me he didn’t just catch me staring at his ass.
Too late.
Matteo quirks a brow as he looks at me, hands placed on his hips, doing that thing he does where he tries to break me down from the inside. A brief emotion rushes through his eyes, surprise maybe, but it’s gone before I can place it. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing and starts to fidget.
I’m unsure of what’s going on between us now. We’re just staring at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable and it’s not weird. If anything, it’s like we’re speaking without words, having a conversation neither of us can understand.
It feels like?—
“Fall Festival,” I blurt out, shoving my hands in my pockets before I do something stupid like reach for him. “We need to plan it.”
“Fall Festival?” he echoes, almost as if in disbelief of my words. He hums, nodding before letting out a deep breath and smiling, tugging on his sweats. “Fall Festival it is. What is it?”
I don’t know what to make of his words or the way he says them. My head feels all sorts of cloudy like everything is registering a second too late. “Um, we organize a pumpkin patch and some games for the kids. There’s usually cider involved.”
I’m making it sound lame because it’s so much more than that, but Matteo seems to understand what I’m trying to get at. “So, what do we have to do?”
“A lot,” I say. “Marcy started most of everything but there are still things left to do. We have to reserve booths, order pumpkins, and get local shops to donate food and games. We also have to settle on a date. Then comes the decorating and?—”
“You’re rambling, Theo,” he teases, propping his hip against the dresser as he crosses his arms over his chest. Jesus, why hasn’t he put on a shirt yet? “It’s precioso .”
I wrinkle my nose. “What does that mean?”
“Precious.”
“I’m not precious,” I argue, even though my cheeks are flaming at the comment. I’m unaware if I’m supposed to take it as a compliment or not. All I know is that it does funny things to my insides when hearing it, especially like that .
He cocks his brow, almost like a challenge, and stalks toward me. I use the word stalk because his strides are purposeful and heavy, but they’re also slow. Like a predator inching toward his prey, every step intentionally lethal, making me almost shudder in the sweet anticipation of being slaughtered.
He stops in front of me, too close to me, and reaches out a hand. I swear I stop breathing when he rubs his thumb against the bridge of my nose, trailing it down to my cheeks, settling it just at the corner of my lips.
“It’s not an insult, Theo” he starts, lips settled in a warm smile, his eyes boring into mine. “ Tú eres precioso because you get flustered easily and when you do, I see every shade of red cross your face. You wear your expressions loudly, even though you try to hide it. Each freckle tells a story you don’t realize.”
My breath trembles and my damn hands are still twitching. “I don’t like my freckles.”
“I love your freckles,” he says, and to prove his point, his thumb migrates back to my nose. “Never stop telling me stories, precioso .”
This close, I can see a little white scar on the corner of his brow that I want to trace, wondering if it’ll tell me a story too. His eyes, fuck, nobody can call them brown, not when they have so many intricate layers to them. That smile. The smile that speaks of sweetness, fondness, happiness. It’s the purest smile I’ve ever seen. He still smells like fresh grass—so much like a calming presence—and I long for the comfort that brings.
Three things happen at once.
I decide from now on, I’m going to love the fuck out of my freckles, if anything just because he does.
I realize Matteo might be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
I get hard.
I jump back quickly, heart racing, panicked. No, no, no. That didn’t just happen. It’s not happening. But I can’t deny the way my cock perks up in a way it hasn’t in a long time. It’s a feeling that’s simultaneously familiar and foreign. Now that my dick’s in the equation, more realizations hit me.
Wanting to be near him, these feelings I’m having, it’s more than friendship.
Fuck!
“Are you alright, Theo?” he asks, concern etching his brows as quickly reaches for his shirt. “I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to overstep. You just looked so funny.”
Funny is the last thing I’m feeling because if this is funny, it’s only in the comedically hilarious way. I just got hard for a priest, my priest, and if that’s not a sign I’m fucked up, I don’t know what is.
But I didn’t get hard for a priest, I got hard for Matteo . The man who’s shown me what friendship is, who pulled me out of the sad little bubble I was living in, who’s given me a reason to want to get up in the morning.
Clara .
I have a wife. I have a wife, and I have a marriage, and I can’t be getting hard for sexy Latin priests who compliment my freckles.
I need to get out of here .
“I’m supposed to be meeting Clara and her parents,” I rush out, scrambling to move around him. “Just text me and we’ll sort out the details of the Fall Festival.”
He takes a step toward me, his lips tipped into a confused frown. “I don’t have your number.”
“Marcy does,” I call over my shoulder, already in the living room. “She can give it to you.”
“Wait, Theo.” He catches up, stopping me with a hand on my elbow. He spins me so my back is to the door and chews on the inside of his cheek. “What just happened?”
So fucking intuitive. The thing I like about him the most is going to be my downfall. Those shades of red he complimented are on full blast and my poor cock still hasn’t gotten the message that we’re so not here for that. “I just need to go.”
There must be something on my face that expresses the urgency of this moment because he lets go of my elbow. He still looks hesitant to let me leave but nods. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
For our midday walk. I should say no. I have to figure out where the fuck this reaction came from before I can go anywhere near him. There are so many possibilities besides the obvious one, and it probably has nothing to do with the way my heart is pounding at the thought of seeing him again so soon.
I should say no.
“Yes,” I whisper and, because I just need to know, I step into his unprepared arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Matteo.”
Maybe when I touch him, I’ll realize this isn’t what I’m quickly coming to discover. Maybe my erection is just... I don’t know.
That’s not what happens.
He returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around my back, and pulling me to him. I make sure to keep my hips away from him, lest he feel my unfortunate predicament, but it doesn’t take away from the hug. I bury my face against his shoulder, smelling fresh linen and rain.
But I pull away when my dick twitches against my zipper and clear my throat. Matteo looks as perplexed as I do, uncertainty dancing behind his eyes, something I’m sure he’s not used to feeling.
Because this is going to be a puzzle I won’t let him piece together.