12. Matty
Chapter twelve
Matty
The bowling alley was packed with boys in oversized matching shirts, some blaring with loud colors, while others bore patterns of balls and pins. One, an apparent favorite team among league players, dressed pins in drag, complete with platinum blonde wigs and Marilyn Monroe-style wind-blown dresses.
“This looks festive,” I said as we stepped up to the alley’s front desk.
“Hey, Omar,” said a late teen with a nose ring smacking bubble gum so loudly it could easily be heard over the thunder of the games in progress. A hint of a tattoo snaked up from beneath her T-shirt, winding around the back of her neck. From what I could see, I was certain it was a dragon’s tail.
“Hello, Mads,” Omar greeted the girl with the dragon tattoo.
“Your guys are already here. Lane twelve. Size ten?”
“You know me so well.” He smiled and nodded.
“Size ten?” I leaned over his shoulder and whispered. “That bodes well for—”
“He won’t be bowling.” Omar ignored me, addressing dragon chick. “He’s just a pesky spectator.”
She didn’t seem to care, turning to retrieve Omar’s shoes from a wall filled with bowling footwear of every size imaginable.
Since I was unable to flap my unflappable date, I turned and scanned the lanes, landing on twelve. Three other guys were already there. A skinny guy with wavy, sandy-blond hair and stylish black-rimmed glasses stood by the ball return, letting the air vent blow on his hand. Two other guys sat at a table. From where we stood, I couldn’t hear their voices, but I thought they were cheering the bespeckled guy on—or taunting him. Given this was a gay league, taunting was the far likelier guess.
Omar must’ve noticed me staring, because he turned, shoes in hand, and said, “I suppose I should prepare you. The one bowling is Patrick. He’s a reporter for the AJC. His boyfriend, Dane, is the hunky fireman sitting there like a statue. Before you ask, yes, he is as gruff as he looks, but don’t let that throw you; he’s a big softie.”
“And the male model sitting with Dane?”
Omar chuckled. “That’s Drew. He’s another fireman, works with Dane. Yes, he’s even hotter up close. Yes, he’s single. Yes, he is absolutely full of himself.”
“And here I thought godlike men were humble.”
Omar snorted. “I don’t think Drew knows that word, but he’s turned out to be a better man than we thought. God, you should have heard how Dane talked about him when he first joined our team. They wanted to toss him into the fire and let him burn.”
“Wait. You said that guy’s name is Dane?”
Omar nodded. “Yes.”
“Is he one of the guys from the Monroe Place fire? I think I heard that name on the news, maybe in the paper.”
“That’s him. Drew wasn’t part of the team when that fire happened. They added him later.”
It would’ve been inappropriate for me to ogle Dane or Drew in front of my date, especially when I was into said date, but damn, they were deliciousness on a stick. Neither of the guys were overly tall, maybe an inch or two above six feet, but they were both powerfully built. I could see Dane’s arms bulging against his bowling shirt sleeves from several lanes away.
“I would avoid the whole Monroe Place incident,” Omar said as he scanned a rack of balls in search of the perfect one. “The whole thing ended poorly with one of their team in the hospital, then getting arrested for stealing meds and selling them on the black market.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Got it. No ogling or mentioning Monroe Place.”
Omar elbowed me. “Ogling was out of line before I told you about the fire.”
“Ooh. Does the diplomat have a jealous streak? I like this side of you. Are you going to fight for my honor, too?”
He rolled his eyes. “If you had any honor to defend, I would.”
“Hey!”
“Omar!” Patrick waved from the lane, then motioned for us to hurry up. “You’re up. Come on.”
Dane and Drew turned to watch us approach. Drew smiled as though the paparazzi might jump out and start snapping photos. Dane scowled. Or maybe he had resting bitch face, and it wasn’t a scowl. I supposed it could’ve been his version of a smile. Either way, he had the brooding, “I want to rip your head off” stare. Or maybe that was, “I want to slam you against the wall and—”
Whatever my brain was going to think next vanished as Patrick collided with Omar, nearly knocking him backward. Dane stood and waited. Drew remained seated, watching.
“You brought a plus one? To bowling?” Patrick said, pulling back and letting his gaze slip to where I stood a step behind Omar.
“This is Matty. He’s an ER nurse at my new hospital.”
“Hi.” I raised a hand and wiggled my fingertips. “I’m a bowling virgin. Please be gentle.”
Patrick grinned. Dane glared. Drew hooted like I’d just said the funniest thing in the world.
“We usually do the hazing on a guy’s first bowl, but since it’s league night, you’re not bowling. I guess the clamps and pin plug will have to wait until next time,” Drew said, wiggling his brows like an old-school comedian.
My mouth fell open.
Dane laughed.
Omar reached back and placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s joshing you.”
“Of course, he is,” Patrick added. “We don’t use clamps, but the pin plug can get up in there pretty good.”
Patrick wiggled like someone had just stuck something up his ass.
I thought I blushed or lost all color in my face, I was not sure which, because all four of the guys—including my traitorous date—burst out laughing.
“If you would like a drink, you can order on that machine over there,” Omar said, pointing to a tall screen on a stand near where we got his ball. “I would love one of your cosmos, if you don’t mind playing barmaid.”
His little grin was so cute I wanted to eat him up right there. Instead, I grinned, offered him a curtsy, and said in my worst British accent, “M’lord, one cosmopolitan coming right up.”
Dane grunted. “Got that one trained already?”
Omar started to reply, but I cut him off. “It would take a shock collar and some serious spanking to train me. Off to get the drinks. Toodles.” I darted away before anyone could say a word, though Dane’s rumbling laughter followed me all the way to the kiosk, proving the giant could show emotion.
By the time I returned, the guys had finished their warm-up throws and were a couple of frames into their first game. Omar stepped from the group, grabbed his drink from my hand, and gave me a peck on the cheek. I startled at the sudden, very public display of affection.
He grinned. “You brought me a drink. You deserve a reward. Besides, I like seeing you lose that facade of control you think is so impenetrable.”
I blinked a few times, stunned. “I don’t think—”
“Gotta bowl.” He winked, set his drink on the table, and darted toward the ball return, leaving me standing there with my own drink held out like I was waiting to give it to someone.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Omar act like that.” I shook off my shock and turned to find Patrick standing one step below me in the players’ pit. He motioned to a seat at the table, then dropped into the next chair.
I sucked down a sip and sat. “What do you mean?”
“He’s the best guy ever. I mean, aside from Dane. I’m legally obligated to say that, you know.” He grinned as he peered across the table at the hulking hero who was engrossed in watching Drew bowl. For a moment, I thought I might’ve been a side character in a Disney movie watching the main character bat doe eyes at another. Patrick was smitten. “But I’ve known Omar for almost three years now, and he’s never acted like a kid with a crush. He’s too, I don’t know, British for that.”
Were all Brits stuffy and avoided googly eyes? I doubted that but chose not to argue the point. It made my heart beat a little faster to think Omar acted differently because of me , though.
“Omar is special,” leaked out. I was never at a loss for words. Hell, most of the time, friends told me to tone it down or zip my mouth. Why was I so restrained, so challenged, when it came to Omar?
“Yes, he is.” Patrick’s grin turned toward me, and he stared a moment. “So, second date and you’re meeting his friends?”
“What can I say? I’m fabulous.” I smiled and threw out my arms as though Patrick might want to examine all of me.
He laughed. “I see that. It should be fun to watch when Drew realizes just how fabulous you are.”
Drew? Where did that come from? What did it even mean? Before I could ask, Patrick popped up for his turn to bowl, and Drew plopped down in his place.
“You know, I’m the hot one in this group. There isn’t room for two,” he said.
I blinked, again thrown off by members of Omar’s little pack. Was it their goal to make me stutter and stammer like I’d never spoken English to other humans? Whatever. I wouldn’t let them—or anyone—dim my flame.
“Hon, you’re a tall, tasty piece of sugah, I’ll give ya that, but nobody outshines Matty boy.” I flicked curls away from my forehead. “But you’re cute enough to share the spotlight, if ya like.”
“Oh, sweet cakes, you’re on.” Drew’s snarky grin widened, and I saw “challenge accepted” written in his gaze.
“What are you two grinning about?” Omar stepped around Drew to stand behind me. I started to answer when both his hands rested on my shoulders, and he began to kneed tight muscles. I wanted to stretch out and die with his thumbs digging in.
“Oh, God, I think I might come,” I groaned.
Drew leaped up. “Watch out, boys, he’s gonna blow!”
“Should we get a hose?” Dane chimed in.
“Hold him over the hand dryer,” Patrick called from the lane where he was about to bowl his second ball. “At least it’ll dry faster.”
“No!” Drew shouted. “That’ll get my ball sticky.”
Dane roared. “You whack off at the station so much I’m surprised they aren’t always sticky.”
“Eww, guys. We have a guest,” Omar said. I was sure he was turning ten shades of red behind me. I was dying to just get a word in.
“You wish you could play with my balls,” Drew snarked, stepping up after Patrick, hefting his bowling ball and stroking it like it was one from between his legs. “They’re so hard and round and—”
“Anyone need a drink or a refill?” Omar’s voice cut through Drew’s innuendo.
I threw my hand in the air. “I do. Me, me, me.”
Omar chuckled, leaned down, and kissed my neck. “Let’s go together.”
Where had this affectionate Omar come from? He was so reserved and wanting to move slowly. He wasn’t humping my leg, but all the little touches—and the kisses—it felt so sudden. It felt as though he doled them out at just the right moments to make me shiver and puddle beneath him.
“Beer,” Dane barked.
“I’d love a screwdriver,” Patrick said.
“And for you, ball boy?” I asked Drew.
Everyone laughed as his bowl misfired and only clipped a couple of pins. He turned, hands on his hips, and huffed back to the pit.
“That little quip cost the team. I had another strike lined up.” He crossed his arms and glared.
Patrick put a hand on his arm and said, “Drew, your last strike was a week ago. I don’t think the team missed out on anything.”
Drew’s eyes widened, then he staggered back and threw his hands to his chest. “You shot me! Patrick just shot me!”
“About time someone did,” Dane grumbled through more laughter.
“Come on, we’ll never escape if we keep sparring with these boys,” Omar said, pulling me away.
In the end, “Ladders and Lattes” finished in the middle of the pack of teams. No one seemed to care except Dane. He was the competitive one of the bunch. As we strolled out to our cars, Dane and Patrick with arms wrapped tightly around each other, something in Atlanta’s warm, wet air felt better than it had a few hours ago.
Omar brushed up against me as we walked. He didn’t have to. We were far enough away and walking through a clear lot. He bumped my shoulder with his. I bumped him back, and he smiled, but not in his professional, “I will make you feel better” smile. No, this was something altogether different. It was wider, brighter, somehow larger than life, yet contained, as though he only meant it for me.
For the hundredth time that night, I could’ve died a happy man.
“Shit, he’s got it bad,” I heard Dane whisper a little too loudly. When I glanced over, he was glaring with his sulky, brooding stare. Patrick was smiling like a proud father—or mother—I still wasn’t sure who was who in all this, though that couple was the nucleus around which the rest of this family spun.
“Have a good night, kids,” Patrick called out, freeing his arm so he could wave. “Use protection. We’re not ready for grandkids.”
I missed a step, and Omar’s hand shot out to catch me. Before I could think, his arm was around me, helping me right myself.
And he didn’t pull away once I was up.
His arm held me tighter.
A thrill raced through me, tiny ants holding a carnival parade all their own up my spine. I could picture the little lady ants in their colorful costumes and feather headdresses. Those darn things tickled as they wiggled and shimmied toward my head.
“You okay?” Omar whispered, making the ants vanish in a poof . “I loved having you here with me tonight.”
Damn it, Ant Dancer. That tickles!
A laugh flew out of my mouth.
Omar stopped walking and looked up at me. “That wasn’t the reaction I expected.”
“Sorry.” I gathered myself. “It was just the ants . . . never mind. Tonight was awesome. Really.”
“Want to do another stroll through Piedmont?”
“At night?” I was surprised. The only people who gathered in the park at night left slimy used things on the ground to mark their passing. Or was it their coming? Maybe both.
But who was I to refuse more time with Omar, especially when he was being so sweet?
“Your wish is my command, good sir,” I said, offering an awkward bow despite his arm still wrapped about my waist.
Omar let out a little growl. “I like it when you try to be all proper and submissive.”
Submissive? It was just a bow. The ants’ music shifted from upbeat, staccato tones to slow, sultry, Brazilian honey meant to entice the queen into making more little workers.
Omar squeezed me again as we reached his car.
A few moments later, we were again parked and strolling. This time, Omar’s hand reached out and took mine, entwining our fingers faster than I could think. His skin was as warm as the night, and just as moist. Was he nervous?
We kept to the main path that circled the massive field where the boys and girls of Midtown played football and frisbee or threw balls for their dogs to retrieve. The park was quiet, with only a few others roaming about. The clouds had retreated, leaving the cerulean sky painted in inky darkness, making the stars and moon shine all the brighter.
“On your right.” A guy whizzed by on his bike, waving back at us as he passed.
“The sequins are so sparkly tonight,” I said.
Omar cocked his head to the side. “Sequins?”
I giggled and pointed upward. “The stars. When I was little, I told my mom that the universe was fabulous because she wore a dark dress with millions of sequins.”
He snorted. “And the moon?”
“That’s the pendant on her necklace, probably an enormous pearl.”
“Of course, I should have known that,” he said through a toothy grin. His hand squeezed mine and held tight for a second. My heart skipped a beat.
“Are you close to your parents? You told me about their work but not much about them.”
We walked a few strides in silence as Omar pondered his answer. “We used to be, I think. I was close with Mother growing up, as close as I could be with her consumed by Father’s work. Teto was always there, by phone, at least. She would visit a couple of times each year. Those were the best weeks.”
“You two sound like peas in a pod.”
“The closest peas ever,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. “I don’t know how to describe her. She’s this tiny old woman who’s shrunk inches with age, yet she stands taller than any person I know. She’s as batty as Rose, but so brilliant and wise. And she’s funny. Dear God, Matty, she’s hilarious. Half the time, I don’t think she realizes what she’s said. Other times, I wonder if she knew what she was saying and was playing dumb.”
“She sounds like my kind of grandma.”
“She would eat you up. I can just hear her trying to outdo you.”
I stopped and turned to face him. “Oh, hon, no one can outshine Matty, not even sweet, unsuspecting, little old ladies.”
Omar’s smile broadened, and he reached up and brushed a curl from my face.
I couldn’t move.
I could barely breathe.
“That’s probably true. You shine brighter than anyone I’ve ever known.”
God, kill me now.
Then Omar cupped my cheek, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to mine.