Page 12 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
He blinked as if in a daze. “I—you. I didn’t know you were…”
“I am.”
“Gay? Bi?”
“Gay,” I confirmed. “You too?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I assured him in a softer tone.
“No, that’s not it. I’m out. I mean…not all the way out, but it’s in the works.”
I cocked my head curiously. “In the works?”
“According to my agent, if I intend to come out publicly, I should tell the story myself and avoid giving someone ammunition to use against me. ‘Pro linebacker, gay…read all about it.’ ” Rob shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure who’ll care, but I’ll do it…when I’m ready.”
“Oh.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “Well, I’m out. The people who matter know, anyway. I stopped worrying about the rest of the world a while ago. I’m not a football star anymore. I’m just a boring guy who works in the family business. The same business you can’t decide if you want to crap on or shamelessly copy.”
“Oh, my God. Has anyone ever told you that you’re very fucking difficult?”
I widened my eyes comically and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Once or twice. But you’re the one playing the big-shot card.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mr. NFL, Great H alum. And like a true kiss-ass, you even named your store after the college. Then you emphasize your coolness with a few jerseys on the wall and oh, so slyly put a pizza on your menu. C’mon, Vilmer. The only thing I like about you is the part I just found out.” I gave him a heated once-over, lingering on his crotch.
Yeah, I was being a dick, but I didn’t respond well to surprises and this was a big one.
Did we really just kiss?
“Same,” he grunted. “But maybe we should talk about?—”
“No. No talking. Whatever that was…didn’t happen.”
“It was a kiss.”
“Didn’t happen,” I repeated. “In fact, the only thing that happened was that you started a war. It’s on, Vilmer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he called after me.
Fuck if I knew. I was spouting gibberish and digging a nice hole for myself. The only thing I could be proud of was that I’d shown some restraint and hadn’t grabbed a bagel bite to go.
Yeah, in a string of lows, I’d officially hit a new one.
6
MATEO
“Pizza bagels? What the fuck?”
“Should be easy. We just do the dough different. The rest is the same,” I bluffed.
My cousins treated me to a three-way blank stare from across the counter. It was almost comical since they all looked alike. Well, not exactly. Sal was heavyset and balding, Jimmy was a gym rat with copious tats, and Vanni reminded me of a skinny rock star. But the Cavaretti genes were strong. We all had olive skin, dark hair, prominent noses, and some mystery family trait that made it obvious that we were related.
Sal broke the silence. “What are you up to, Teo? You don’t just up and start making bagels. You gotta do the research. We lack some crucial equipment that costs money.”
Vanni nodded. “Yeah, we don’t have that thing they use. What’s it called?”
