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)
My jaw dropped. “She did not.”
“Did too,” he singsonged.
“My mother turned traitor? I don’t believe it.”
Rob snickered. “No, no. She pretty much said I’d need a bigger commitment from you before she’d give up the good stuff.”
My face was on fire. I opened and closed my mouth, then gave up and shook my head mournfully. “My family is the worst.”
“They’re the best.” He lifted my chin with the pad of his thumb. “So are you. Dinner smells amazing and I appreciate the invitation, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Don’t get excited. This is all about sex.”
“Ahh,” he drawled sarcastically.
“As soon as that lock clicks behind my cousins and we finally have the building to ourselves, I’m absolutely going to attack you. How do you feel about tagliatelle?”
“Love it. Can I help?”
“No, I’ve seen you murder spaghetti. My heart can’t take it tonight. You can set the table.” I gestured to the battered wood cupboards where plates were stored and checked the pot of boiling water on the stove.
Rob smacked my butt. “Wise-ass.”
We sat at the table for two that looked out on the street with heaping bowls of pasta and a bottle of Chianti between us. All that was missing was a red-and-white checked tablecloth and a scratchy recording of Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore.” I had both, but I didn’t want to go overboard.
“More wine?” I asked, dabbing my mouth as I reached for the bottle.
“No, this is perfect.” He twirled pasta around his fork and sighed happily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, out with it. What’s buggin’ you?”
Rob snorted. “Subtle.”
“I’d apologize, but you’ve met my family.”
He rested his calf against mine under the table, his gaze fixed on me as he chewed and swallowed. “I have.”
“Well…” I prodded.
A sip of wine and another deep sigh later, Rob leaned back in his chair, worrying his bottom lip. “This weekend feels bigger than we intended. The social media campaign was wildly successful. Maybe too successful. My agent is making a special trip west for this. I haven’t seen Bill in a year, and suddenly he’s got big ideas on how to end my career with a bang…and drum up new ideas for postretirement endorsements. I don’t care what anyone tells you, it all comes down to money.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’d feel better if we were talking about a football contract. But that’s over. He hasn’t said as much, but I think Bill is hatching a crafty plan to make me a queer ambassador. And like it or not, you’ll get dragged into it too.”
“Me?” I cocked my head curiously. “How so?”
“Bill remembers you. From Tennessee.”
“Ah.” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but I nodded along.
“He’s been asking about you. I wouldn’t be surprised if a well-known sports reporter or podcaster reaches out for an interview for a story about you.”
I scoffed. “Why? Sounds boring.”
“I don’t think so. Not now. Thanks to Amber’s online campaign, we’ve got almost a million folks tuning in for the bake-off. Fans have been voting all week, and they’re invested. They want to see who’ll win.”
“Me.”
Rob kicked my shin. “I’m being serious here.”
“I know, I know, but…maybe you’re overthinking this. I sell pizza for a living, Rob. My days as a quarterback are long gone. It’s nice to put on a jersey, go to a game, and act like a mini celebrity, but that’s all it is—an act. My life is this shop, carrying on a family tradition. For all intents and purposes, I am pizza.”
“Not quite. You’re a gay man who’s about to be thrust into the spotlight because of me.”
I could tell he was worked up and that a snarky reminder that I was already out wouldn’t go over well. Still…I wasn’t sure why he was so agitated. “Are you coming out at the bake-off?”
“No, but I’ll do it soon. Like…next month.” He raked a hand through his hair and continued. “Maybe I am overthinking this. Or maybe I’m just realizing that on the brink of coming out publicly, I’ve accidentally made my platform bigger than I meant to, and now there’s nowhere to hide. And…I’m worried that I’ve put you in a compromising position.”
I blinked in confusion, but…it made perfect sense.
He was afraid. For me.
Rob was somebody. He’d had a big career. He’d won a fucking Super Bowl. Of course people would be interested in his life. The bake-off was good for the town and Boardwalk Pizza, but reporters weren’t going to be curious about Sal or Vanni or Jimmy. But they might be curious about my cautionary tale of what happens to some high-flying sports hero wannabes. Not thinking about the possible repercussions was naïve to the point of being reckless.
But really…did it matter?
I was out. The people I loved most and whose opinion I cared about had supported me. I hadn’t thought about the crushing weight of coming out in a long time. I’d put that chapter well behind me.