Page 39 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
I nodded, oddly disappointed that the moment was gone.
Dinner itself was everything Mateo had warned it would be. Adults congregated at two long tables in the family room, and kids sat at the round table in the breakfast nook. Food was passed amid a flurry of competing conversations.
I sat next to a beautiful olive-skinned woman who introduced herself as Hilary, a cousin from Aunt Sylvie’s side. She was a financial analyst who lived in Santa Cruz and commuted to San Francisco three days a week. Another cousin—Marta, maybe?—fed me a near constant stream of information about Hilary. She was thirty-four, a Stanford grad, no kids, a huge Taylor Swift fan, a fitness buff…oh, and her last boyfriend was a bum. The Cavarettis didn’t do subtle well.
I gorged on halibut withputtanesca, shrimp linguine, roasted veggies, and the best bread I’d ever eaten in my life while chatting amicably with Hilary and clandestinely keeping an eye on Mateo, who was seated nearby at the head of the table. Occasionally, our conversations overlapped, and I’d have his full attention and…suddenly I’d find myself smiling for no reason at all.
Curiosity and common courtesy had been my reasons for accepting this invitation. But there was a personal element here as well. I got this strange fluttery feeling in my chest watching Mateo interact with his family. He alternately played the doting son and nephew, the goofball cousin, or the heir apparent. I didn’t claim to understand the dynamics at Boardwalk Pizza, butI got the impression that Mateo and Sal were in charge…with Mateo making all final decisions.
Maybe I was wrong. And maybe someday I’d ask. Tonight, I was content to be amongst new friends and grateful he’d allowed me into his orbit.
On the drive home, I regretted the second helping of tiramisu. I patted my belly at a red light and groaned.
“I’m not eating tomorrow.”
Mateo snickered and drawled an annoying, “Right…”
“I’m serious. How do you eat like that and own a pizza shop and still manage to stay in shape? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t eat like that every day. That’s a Sunday thing only,” he assured me. “So…do you wish you’d listened to me and bailed out while you had a chance?”
“No way. I loved it.” I darted a sideways glance and could have sworn he smiled. “Your family is…lovely.”
“I think you mean loud.”
“That too, but they’re awesome,” I enthused.
“Green light.”
“Oh.” I put my foot on the gas and continued through town. “Am I taking you home or…are you coming with me?”
“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.
