Chapter 4 #2
By the time Gabe emerged, all dressed up in a suit and tie, accompanied by the admittedly handsome Tate Fontanna, who looked fabulous but wasn’t as dressed up in jeans, a white shirt, and blazer, I was feeling giddy with anticipation.
My smile was automatic, but I tamped down the excitement and remembered to be my notoriously gracious self. For at least a few minutes.
“Mia.” Gabe’s unmistakable voice boomed over the crowd in that take-charge-without-being-overbearing way he had. The crowd parted naturally and Tate followed in his wake as they came to me, both smiling.
“Sorry about the loss,” I said, nodding at them both, my lips curved up in an understated way as if out of respect for the lost game.
“No problem,” Gabe said while Tate kept his eyes on me. “Pregame losses don’t count. You ready for a big fat Italian dinner with my family?” My eyes darted to Tate’s. Gabe still hadn’t introduced us. Tate didn’t look impatient, though Gabe wasn’t in a hurry, bordering on being rude.
“Is your family here?” I looked around, realizing I didn’t know who they were and they could have been standing out here with me waiting all this time.
Gabe grinned and put a hand almost at my back, hovering in that proprietary spot as if to guide me in a subtle way. “Nah. They’re already at the restaurant drinking wine, no doubt.” He moved us forward. Tate cleared his throat. I shifted my attention to him.
Gabe stopped and gave him a sideways glance. “This reprobate is my teammate Tate Fontanna. He’ll be joining us.” Gabe quirked his mouth as if daring Tate to complain. “Tate, this is Mia Lane, an old college friend and my girl’s best friend. She’s new to Boston and we need to take care of her.”
“Mia.” Tate nodded. “Don’t mind Gabe. He’s upset because he didn’t get to play today. No doubt thinks if he did we would have won—which even though it’s a preseason game, is still the point for the players even if it isn’t for the coaches.”
I nodded, “I know. Right? It counts for the fans watching too.”
“Enough with the profound discussion about pre-season. Let’s go eat. I’m driving.” Gabe pressed his hand to my back then, forgetting about subtlety as his smile lost some of its enthusiasm.
We pushed through the crowd with Tate blocking for us and Gabe escorting me, and we emerged from the tunnel at the team personnel parking lot.
Tate fell back and let Gabe lead the way to a big black Escalade.
He opened the front passenger door for me, relegating Tate to the back seat. I gave Tate an apologetic glance.
“Do you have enough leg room?”
“Don’t worry,” Gabe said as he settled into the driver’s seat. “This is a big-ass car with plenty of room in the back.” He looked in the rearview at Tate and winked. “Isn’t that right?”
“Plenty of room,” Tate said, smirking, eyes twinkling, giving me the feeling I was missing something.
“You two seem like best buds already,” I said.
“Nothing like the gauntlet of preseason football to bring a team close,” Gabe said.
“Nothing like it,” Tate said. “Especially when our fearless leader makes a contest of how early we can get to practice every day.” He yawned dramatically and Gabe flipped him his middle finger.
“Hey watch it, Wyatt. We have a lady on board.”
Gabe slid a glance at me. “Sorry. Sometimes the locker room bleeds into real life. I promise we’ll be on best behavior now.”
“Tell me about this restaurant you’re taking us to,” Tate said as he looked out the windows at the East Boston neighborhoods where the big car squeezed through narrow streets.
“If you’re hungry, you’ll love it,” I said. “The food is heavenly, the smells divine the minute you step inside.”
“Let me guess—Italian?”
I was turned sideways in my seat so I could talk to Tate, see his handsome grin, admire the rough stubble on his chiseled jaw as he spoke. I nodded.
“You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Fontanna?” Gabe said. “You’re not on some f—sorry—a low-carb diet, are you?”
Tate snorted. “Not me. You’re the super skilled player who needs to watch his figure.”
The locker room banter continued in spite of Gabe’s promise, but I didn’t mind.
They sparred like brothers. Maybe that’s what being on a football team did for you.
A wistful clench of my heart took hold at being new and untethered, starting over in Boston, at the loss of my father leaving my family to consist of only me and my mother and one aunt.
Gabe pulled the car to the curb almost at the front door as if the space had been kept empty for him—maybe it had.
Tate jumped from the car on my side and popped my door open before I had a chance to push it open for myself.
He took my hand and helped me out of the car.
I was glad I was wearing jeans, but when he eyed the Wyatt number eleven jersey I felt a little embarrassed when I met his gaze.
“I’ll have to make sure you get an update to your football jersey wardrobe,” he said.
Before I had a chance to do more than smile at him, Gabe came around and herded us to the door, pushing it open for us.
“Welcome to Louie’s, the best Italian food in the greater Boston area.”
“It might be true,” I said. “It’s excellent, but I haven’t been to a single other restaurant in Boston so I wouldn’t know for sure.”
We went inside and that same drool-inducing smell hit me.
Tate said to me, “You were right about that smell.”
Louie came out and led us through the main restaurant where diners looked up and cheered, clapped and whistled as we paraded by, acknowledging the home-town football heroes, congratulating them on the previous season’s super bowl win, encouraging a repeat.
Gabe waved and I hung back with Tate feeling like a hangnail and wanting to disappear.
This was the kind of thing Denise enjoyed, but it was definitely not my cup of tea.
This kind of attention was something that had always followed my mother, that I’d lived with all my life everywhere I went with her and that I’d never gotten used to.
In fact, I hated it. It was the single biggest reason I never considered for a millisecond following in my mother’s footsteps into a modeling career—in spite of constant pressure from the age of fourteen until I went to college.
Gabe shed the remnants of his locker room persona the second his eyes lit up as he went to his mother and enveloped her in a big hug.
Could anything torture my heart more than seeing a man so good to his mother?
He introduced Tate and me as a new couple and, in spite of the awkward pause during which I hope no one noticed me blush like a teenager, Tate was good-natured about it.
He sat on one side of me and Gabe sat on the other and I found myself comparing their profiles.
Objectively speaking, Tate was the more handsome of the two, but it was splitting fine hairs in the end.
And Tate more than held his own in the charm department too.
In fact, he was fun and funny throughout the meal, paying attention to me and participating in the table’s conversation about football and food.
I felt at home with both these subjects and promised to share my recipe for beignets with Mrs. Wyatt.
Gabe’s family was wonderful. His mother was gracious and wise and adored Gabe.
His father was quiet and handsome. Gabe looked like him most, but I could see both of them in him.
His two sisters, one older with children and one younger, still in college, were dark-haired stunners and his older brother was a smaller, sharper version of Wyatt who, in spite of being thirty years old, couldn’t be convinced to settle down and give his parents more bambinos to enjoy, his mother said.
Shortly after we were served our main course, I heard a telltale buzz and Gabe slipped his phone from his pocket. “It’s Denise.”
He put her on FaceTime and flashed his phone around the table for everyone to say hello. His mother asked when she was coming back and Denise hedged.
“I hope to be there for the first game of the season.”
Gabe looked pained by her lack of plans.
The first game was next Sunday and I felt frustrated on his behalf.
He finished the call while we ate and chatted about the season opener against their Super Bowl opponent from last year.
But as the dinner progressed, I noticed that Gabe lost his appetite and got quiet, letting the lively conversation pass him by. He was definitely not himself.
I felt uncomfortable as he watched me flirt with Tate while we drank wine.
Gabe had nothing but water. He hadn’t even eaten the pasta. His mother and younger sister coaxed him back into a good mood by the time dessert was served. Even though he didn’t eat it, he was at least smiling again. Rising from the table, he excused himself.
After he left, Tate said, “There’s trouble brewing in his relationship. I lay odds it doesn’t last the season.”
“I say he gives Denise a diamond before the season is over.”
“I’ll take that bet. What do I get when I win?” I laughed, nerves percolating because I had no idea why I predicted Gabe and Denise would get engaged when it was the opposite of what I thought. Or the opposite of what I hoped for. Guilt was getting to me.
“Excuse me while I go to the ladies’ room.
” I stood and Tate watched me with avid eyes holding as much warmth as they did lust. I walked around the corner down the corridor toward the private restrooms, but I stopped when I heard Gabe’s voice ahead.
He was out of sight in the alcove in front of the men’s room doorway.
Not moving, I listened, not wanting to interrupt, knowing I should turn around and leave, but hesitated when I heard him say Denise’s name, his voice soft and pleading and unlike anything I’d ever heard from him.
Jealousy jolted up my stiffened spine, freezing me in place to listen.