Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Screech.
“Uh…come again?”
“My partner and I are gonna make savory bagels. Bagels with a twist. We’ll sprinkle those in with my grandpa’s tried and true recipes. Should be fun.” He glanced at his watch and tipped his chin. “Hey, I gotta run. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Just like old times.”
“Whoa. Wait up.” I held my hand like a stop sign and stepped into his space. Bad move. I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes now, and that was weird. I was six one—not exactly a small dude, but that asshole had sprouted at least another two inches since college. I’d bet he was six foot six. And yes, he was an asshole. I hadn’t thought so until a minute ago, but now… “You can’t sell pizza bagels next to a pizza parlor.”
“I can’t?”
“No, you can’t. It’s brand assimilation or something. It’s illegal.”
“Illegal?” he scoffed. “I don’t think so, Mateo. Bagels are bagels, pizza is pizza. But I was only kid—”
“Yeah, but a pizza bagel is a piece of dough that’s dressed up to look like something it isn’t. It’s shady advertising, not to mention blatant customer poaching. Sell all the bagels you want, but don’t sell pizza bagels. That’s a great way to get off to a rotten start. You know what I’m saying?”
Rob regarded me for a long moment. “Are you threatening me?”
“Threaten is a strong word. I’m suggesting you do the right thing.”
“Or what?”
I snort-laughed in my most derisive, supremely irritating fashion. It was the kind of insincere and dismissive gesture that had pissed off opponents on the field years ago and still probably got under my cousins’ skin. Nothing to brag about, but hey…I’d learned how to play with the big kids early. Rule number one: Never show fear. Rule number two: Never back down or give someone else the upper hand.
“I ’spose you’ll find out.” I turned on my heels, tray clenched to my chest as I sauntered next door.
Yeah, yeah. Look, maybe Rob wasn’t the enemy. Maybe it was a quirky act of fate that he’d happened to lease the property next to mine. The one I wanted.
Fortune had shined upon him and that was nice and all, but Boardwalk Pizza was an institution in this town. We were the experts, we were the ones with decades of experience, and we weren’t going anywhere.
So Rob could shove his goddamn pizza bagel up his ass.
2
ROB
Steam had to be billowing out of my ears. Was that asshat serious?
Definitely. And he was just…rude. And mean-spirited.
I didn’t like Mateo Cavaretti. Not one little bit. That was disappointing ’cause I’d actually admired that prick in college. He’d been a great quarterback—cool under pressure with sharp instincts and a keen, strategic mind. If you’d have asked anyone from our team which one of us would have had a career in football, they’d have said Cavaretti. No question. He was a talented leader…who now ran a pizza parlor.
No shame there. I’d personally been biding my time for years so I could move on from the pros and start over. In Haverton.
Life had been sweet and simple in this town. I’d naïvely counted on slipping into that easy familiar rhythm and leaving the constant stress of the spotlight behind.
Apparently, stress just looked different here. Like a tall, dark, sinfully handsome hunk with a bad attitude. Great.
“Oh, wow. Dreamboat meeting! I’m so jealous you got to chat with him first. I haven’t seen Mateo in years. Is he as yummy up close as he used to be?” Amber winked before craning her head as if hoping for one more glimpse of the pizza jerk.
“He’s an asshole.” I strode toward the plans the designer had left for the construction crew and pretended to study them in a weak attempt to get my temper under control.
“What? No!” She slumped against the doorjamb theatrically. “Why are the hot ones always either taken or horrible? Or lovely, but gay?”
“I highly doubt he’s gay, but he’s definitely horrible.” I filled her in on our accidental meeting, finishing with an annoyed growl. “So now we need a recipe for pizza bagels.”
Amber met me at the small table in the middle of the empty store, sweeping a golden curl from her eyes as she fixed me with a confused expression. “Pizza bagels? Since when are we making pizza bagels?”
“Since Cavaretti threatened me like a thug. Screw him.”
She set her hands on her hips. “Spite bagels. I see…”
It was hard not to chuckle at Amber’s tough-chick energy. She was a pint-sized dynamo who never met a challenge she didn’t like.
We’d been best friends since our senior year at Haverton, and it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that she was the only person on the planet who really knew me. She’d been a calming constant during some turbulent times.