Chapter 9 #2
A minute later though, Gabriel was back, like he’d actually raced across the lot so he could grab the vinegar. “Here you go,” he said, breathlessly, setting it on the countertop next to Sean’s burner. “I think maybe a tablespoon or two?”
“That sounds like a good place to start,” Sean agreed. He drizzled it in, and then kept stirring, incorporating it into the mixture.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw Gabe’s hand reach out towards the pan and at the last second, he slapped it away.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Gabe’s expression was sheepish. “Trying it?”
“Then get a spoon, you heathen,” he said. “Also, this is hot, and it has sugar in it, and you’d probably have burned the hell out of your fingers.”
“I’ve burned them so many times, I think I’ve got permanent callouses on the tips,” Gabriel admitted.
Sean knew; he’d felt them, when Gabriel had touched him all over. Just the idea of those soft-rough fingers touching him now made him shiver.
“Maybe,” he said, dropping his voice, because while they might be in his truck, the window was open and people could overhear them, “maybe I want to make sure your fingers are in excellent condition for later.”
“Later, huh?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes sparkling. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’d thought about inviting you over last night .
. .” Sean said, trailing off. But after Tony’s announcement, it had felt weird, like the two worlds he was desperately trying to keep separate had collided.
Maybe they were still colliding, but he’d talked himself off that cliff last night.
He’d been so clear before this whole thing started.
It was just sex. And this, Sean reminded himself, wasn’t even a date!
This was for work. They’d been assigned this task by Tony, and while they were both technically independent and could’ve told him to fuck off, Tony would make them regret it.
“I wanted to come over last night,” Gabriel said.
Sean liked his bluntness. Liked that they weren’t dancing around this as much. It was easier, clearer, way less complicated to just state outright what they both wanted. And it reassured him because it felt nothing like dating.
They were working together. They were fucking. That was all.
“Well, you can tonight, if you want,” Sean said.
“I do want.” Gabriel’s voice had gone very low and there was an intensity in his expression—not just a want, but a need—and Sean felt himself go very hot and then very cold, all over.
He really loved his job. Had loved it for the two years he’d done it. But suddenly, he wished that he could just take a day off.
Turn off the burner and lock the door behind them and drag Gabriel back to his house now.
Sean glanced up at him, their gazes locking, and his fingers trembled on the spatula. “I wish . . .”
“I know,” Gabriel said.
It had been a long time since he’d dated, but he swore that friends with only benefits didn’t look at each other like that. Didn’t yearn for each other the way he was yearning now. You’re just fucking, Sean reminded himself, that’s what you asked for, and that’s what you’re getting.
Instead of holding Gabriel’s gaze, Sean glanced down at the pan and gave it another half-hearted stir. The good news is that if things were intense now, right in this moment, they’d definitely be calmer by the end of the night, when Gabriel walked home with him. He knew they would be.
As for right now, he could focus on the task at hand. Fulfill Tony’s request, and do it, to everyone’s likely shock, without killing each other.
“Can you grab me that spoon over there?” Sean asked, gesturing to the organizer full of utensils. “I think this is about ready.”
Gabe slapped the spoon into Sean’s waiting palm. “You think so?” he said.
Sean stirred the mixture with the spoon and then let it slowly drizzle out. It seemed thick and also sticky enough. The only question was, did it taste good? He lifted the spoon to his mouth and this time it was Gabe’s hand that shot out and held his elbow, preventing him from actually tasting it.
“You’re gonna burn your mouth,” Gabe said, “and I'm definitely going to need it later.”
Sean laughed. “Fine, fine, fine,” he said, carefully blowing on the hot liquid on the spoon, waiting another second until it was probably not nuclear. “I’ll save my tongue for you,” he said.
“Damn straight you will,” Gabriel said with an amused chuckle.
This time when Sean raised the spoon to his lips, he was more careful, flicking his tongue out, just to taste the tiniest bit, because Gabe was annoyingly right, he didn’t want to burn his tongue.
Flavor exploded across it. Garlic and sesame and the umami of the soy sauce, balanced by the sweetness of the brown sugar, and then the slightest hint of tang from the balsamic vinegar.
“It’s really good,” Sean said, offering the spoon to Gabriel, who didn’t carefully lick it, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and smiled widely as he tasted it.
“That is really fucking good,” Gabe agreed. “And don’t get all pissy, but it’s the balsamic that makes it.”
Sean had been thinking the same thing, and hoping that Gabriel wouldn’t notice, but of course he had. Despite what he thought—that all he did was make his nonna’s recipes—Gabriel was a great cook and a very talented chef.
“It works,” Sean said noncommittally. He liked Gabriel now, though the truth was, he wasn’t exactly sure when that had begun, but they weren’t getting all buddy buddy. Just in bed, that was all. He didn’t need to fix Gabriel’s crisis of confidence.
“Yeah, it does,” Gabriel said, sounding very pleased with himself.
And maybe he didn’t need to, anyway. After all, Sean had never had even an inkling that Gabriel wasn’t confident until his confession the other night. There were even times he’d believed Gabriel was annoyingly overconfident.
Maybe it was an act, but Sean decided that it wasn’t his business. He was just here for the fucking, thank you very much.
“Let’s get the meatballs in there,” Sean said, and Gabriel nodded, popping the lid on the container. He grabbed a knife from the bin and casually cut them in his hand as he dropped them one by one into the glaze.
“Four, yeah?” Gabriel asked.
“I think so,” Sean said, frowning. He’d grabbed another tortilla—spinach, again, because he liked the bright green color of it so much—and stuck it in the press, warming it up enough that it’d be pliable enough to fold.
When it was done, he pulled it out, and let it cool just for a second, so his veggies wouldn’t wilt. Then, he pulled off the plastic covers of the fresh veggie bins that he’d stocked early this morning, before Gabriel had even arrived.
Matchstick length carrots and cucumbers and pickled red onions, and shredded cabbage and lettuce went on, followed by a dusting of fresh cilantro and mint, and then the peanuts.
“These,” Sean explained as he sprinkled them on, “aren’t candied the way I want them to be, but I thought I’d experiment some after hours, maybe at home, with getting them just the way I want them. But it’ll give you some idea of the crunch aspect.”
“Alright,” Gabriel said. He was staring intently at the wrap as Sean built the base, and then began to layer on the meatballs, sticky and sweet. “That’s a lot of vegetables.”
“Yeah, well, it’s supposed to be,” Sean said. “That’s kind of my signature.”
“It’s not mine,” Gabriel retorted, that stubborn glint returning to his eye.
“And?” Sean said. “This is supposed to be about compromise. We’re compromising. Do you need a definition of what that means?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “But . . . cabbage. On my meatballs.”
“Technically,” Sean said with a grin, “the cabbage is under your meatballs.”
“Oh, is that supposed to make it better?”
Sean shrugged. “Maybe? But I think this is gonna be good.” He finished wrapping it up, and without all the extra red sauce, and with the added stickiness of the glaze, it was much easier.
He sliced it in half with a knife, and then picked up the side closest to him. “Cheers,” he said, tilting his head.
Gabriel rolled his eyes but picked up the other half.
Sean had been working on various kinds of wraps for years now. Long before he’d ever dreamed of owning his own food truck. But there was always something special about the first bite of something he knew could be extraordinary. And this definitely had that possibility.
He could see from the look on Gabriel’s face as he took one bite and chewed, and then another, his expression carefully blank. But it was never blank, almost ever, and that alone was enough to tell Sean everything he needed to know.
Gabriel liked it, and didn’t want to like it.
“Well, I think this is a solid first pass,” Sean said. “This is our dish.”
“You think so?”
Sean shot him a look. Only Gabriel would try to claim something wasn’t delicious when it so clearly was. “I do. I guess the only question is . . . do you?”
It was almost fun to watch him try to hedge. “It’s fine,” he said. “You know, the cabbage notwithstanding.”
“I almost think,” Sean said, after chewing a third bite and swallowing, “that the veg could use like a really light dressing. Like lime, some really neutral oil maybe.”
“Is that going to change the cabbage to be not cabbage?” Gabriel wondered.
Sean elbowed him in the side. “What is with you and the cabbage?” he asked.
“I guess I should be grateful you didn’t put kale on it,” he said.
“So I suppose the kale chip idea is out, then,” Sean teased him back.
“Kale chips?” Gabriel sounded aghast at the idea. “Chips are potatoes, thank you very much, and I wouldn’t want to put them with so many vegetables. Might get the wrong idea.”
“That what? They’re both vegetables?”
“No,” Gabriel said, “that they’re healthy.”
“Ugh,” Sean said. “It’s amazing you’re healthy.”
“It’s these good Italian genes. And the olive oil.” Gabriel finished the wrap in another two bites. “I guess,” he finally conceded, “that you were right.”