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)
“I’m definitely going to your house, but I need my car.” He thanked me when I pulled into the alley behind the pizza parlor a couple of minutes later. “I’ll be there in fifteen or less. I—hey, you’re starin’ at me.”
“No, no, I’m just…” I chuckled. “This feels like a date.”
“A date? Are you nuts? I would never ever in a million years take a date to Sunday dinner. No way. No one brings a date to Sunday dinner. My cousins joked that sharing a marinara recipe was like proposing, but you might as well set the fucking date if you bring some poor soul to Sunday dinner.”
“Gee, Teo…I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment yet,” I teased.
“Very fucking funny. And for the record, we”—he gestured manically between us—“are not dating. Not even close. I barely like you, and I—”
“C’mere.” I didn’t give him a chance to refuse. I hooked my hand around Mateo’s nape and pulled him toward me, sealing our mouths. I patted his cheek as I released him. “See you at my place.”
I checked the rearview mirror for a parting glimpse of a shell-shocked looking Mateo. And yes, I was very aware of my super-sized smug grin. God, I loved getting under that guy’s skin.
Or was he under mine?
15
MATEO
Yeah, I was officially addicted, strung up, and horny for the bagel guy.
Who could blame me? The sex was out of this world. We’re talking “wrung out, staring at the ceiling, arms and legs spread like a starfish while gasping for breath in a meteor-like shower of post-orgasmic waves” hot.
Ten-minute sneaky booty calls weren’t enough now. We craved skin-to-skin action and we didn’t deprive ourselves.
I wound up at Rob’s house every other night under the pretense of our truce…you know, for the sake of a fund raiser. I showed him how to cut tomatoes and onions without slicing off a finger, and Rob showed me his grandfather’s recipe book. We’d comment on interesting bagel flavors—sundried tomato and asiago cheese, jalapeño and cheddar—and which cream cheese might go best.
Night after night was spent teaching Rob new culinary skills while he shared feel-good stories about the bagel shop of his youth.
Sometimes he’d pause to tease my control-freak tendencies, and I’d shoot back a snarky reply that I had no desire to go to the ER and hope someone knew how to repair a chopped-off thumb. Lightly barbed words led to laughter, gentle bumps of elbows or hips, and twenty minutes later, he’d be balls deep inside me, pounding my ass as I moaned into his pillow.
It was truly some of the most incredible sex I’d ever had in my life.
No kidding.
I’d passed out in his bed last night for the second time in three days and woken up in a panic. I’d dressed quickly, double-checked to be sure I had my cell and my keys, then headed for the door.
“Hey. C’mere,” Rob had murmured, lifting his head.
I’d frozen for a beat before going to his side. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you later.”
“Mmm. Kiss me.”
He’d been half-asleep and I hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, so I’d pressed my lips to his forehead, inhaling his scent and wishing I could slip under the covers without worrying that anyone would figure out that our pizza war had taken an interesting twist.
It seemed as if my cousins at least should have clued in that there was more than unrequited lust on my side happening here. No one said a word. I couldn’t decide if we were great actors or…maybe they were.
My mom was the one who made me a little nervous.
She showed up regularly at the pizzeria with a bejeweled Aunt Sylvie dressed from head to toe in her signature animal prints to gush about the nice young man next door. And of course, they’d vote for our “bake-off” samples each week, and give their two cents.
Aunt Sylvie, honest to a fault: “Your bagel is doughy, Mateo. I don’t like it.”
Ma, also honest, but with a lighter touch: “It’s not bad. It’s just…I think it’s maybe not your strength, honey. But your marinara is far superior.”
Aunt Sylvie: “Not even a contest.”
But it was a contest.
There were posters all over town promoting the bake-off and urging customers to participate and show support for the Big H Hawks. It was good for the community, good for the football team, good for our respective businesses.
I was pretty sure Boardwalk Pizza would win this hands down, but it was beginning to feel less and less as if it mattered. Weird.
Okay…that was a slight exaggeration. I wanted to kick ass and gloat while I rode Rob’s cock and—
Whoa. Chubby alert.
I cleared my throat and tuned into the meeting Amber had called to give us all an update.
“I’ll make this quick.” Amber eyed her clipboard, her curls spilling loose from her hair tie. “Boardwalk Pizza is leading by a teensy margin.”