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)
“Yeah, I told him I want to wait a month or so. He’s coming to the finale, and knowing Bill, he’ll want to put a date on the calendar and get a PR team ready to roll. You know him. He doesn’t do anything small,” I huffed, leaning against the counter.
“A blessing and a curse. He’s been good for your career,” she commented matter-of-factly.
I nodded, knitting my brow as another thought stirred uneasily in my head.
“Bill told me he remembered Mateo.” I shared Bill’s insights regarding Mateo’s brief foray in the league. “I can see some hotshot reporter digging into his past and coming up with a negative twist to sell a story that he never intended to tell. That’s not happening on my watch.”
Amber narrowed her eyes. “Does Mateo know any of this?”
“No, but…that’s the point. Whatever we have going on is new. He barely even liked me last summer. I’m not pushing him into anything he’s not ready for.”
“Shouldn’t he get a say in that?”
“No. Because having sex with someone doesn’t mean you want to hitch your wagon to their bullshit.”
“So…you’re protecting him.” It was a statement, not a question.
I glowered much to Amber’s amusement. “Don’t you have somewhere to go? Someone else to harass?”
“Yes…unfortunately, I do.” She stood in front of me, toe-to-toe, and tipped her head to meet my eyes. “Do you ever think that life would have been so much easier if you were straight and madly in love with me?”
I chuckled and pulled her into my arms, appreciating that as usual Amber knew how to coax me off the edge. “Yeah. But I’m gay, and I have a bad crush on the pizza guy.”
“Well, it’s kind of obvious that he feels the same way. That’s a good start.”
Maybe so.
Fun fact: I was an expert at compartmentalizing. It was a trick a therapist had taught me years ago when I’d struggled with debilitating bouts of anxiety. She’d urged me to remind myself that it wasn’t reasonable to take on multiple issues at once and to visualize boxes in my brain that could only be opened one at a time.
Easy concept, but lately I sucked at it.
At the moment, I had three open boxes in my brain. Box one: the bake-off finale. Box two: post-bake-off coming-out announcement. Box three: anything press-related to either event that might negatively impact Mateo.
Each compartment was spilling over like overfilled wastebaskets with lists of what might go wrong. The bake-off could get rained out, no one would show up—you get the idea.
Worrying about what I couldn’t control was pointless, and worse…it stole joy. And there was so much fucking joy to be had. We’d traded barbed banter and hostile posturing for passionate no-holds-barred sex and had opened a reluctant line of communication. But there was nothing reluctant about us anymore.
We hadn’t planned on it, and I’d bet no one in our inner circles had seen it coming, but Mateo and I had become friends. Real friends. The kind who shared stories of childhood trauma and unwittingly revealed insecurities one minute, then heatedly debated which season of Curb Your Enthusiasm was the funniest the next.
I was as attracted to Mateo’s sharp wit and intellect as I was to his incredibly hot body. But I wasn’t a fool. Neither was Mateo. We’d both been in the closet, involved with secret lovers who’d gone on to “safer” relationships. We’d weathered years of denying who we were to make others more comfortable. It was a difficult mindset to shake…and I hadn’t quite done it yet.
Mateo knew what that was like. These threads of quiet understanding gave me hope that our friendship would survive long after one of us called this off.
And a good friend wouldn’t let his buddy get blindsided by a visiting agent with an agenda.
“I’ll be there Saturday morning with a team of photographers and reporters. We’ve got some great coverage for this thing. No pressure, of course, but this might be an ideal time to make your announcement.”
“No, the bake-off isn’t about me. And you really don’t have to come, Bill.”
“It’s a done deal, kid. Believe it or not, I’m invested in this contest. I’ve been following the TikTok and Instagram wars between you and Cavaretti along with everyone else, and I want to judge those pizza bagels myself.”
“Ah…that’s…great.” I stared at the Haverton pennant on my office wall and sank in my chair.
“Besides, it’ll give me a chance to meet Mateo in person. I’m not the only one who’d like to hear his post-NFL story. I bet you a dozen donuts, that new hotshot reporter from ESPN will be chomping at the bit to meet him.”
I sat up quickly. “Wait. ESPN? Why?”
“Why not? It’s football season. You know they’re always looking for content, and Cavaretti’s story is kinda interesting. I told you, he got robbed. While I’m there, you and I can strategize how to handle your story. Maybe prepare a statement in advance, you know?”