Page 22 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
But I’d save my heavier thoughts for after business hours. In the meantime, I fist-bumped the kid and wished him good luck at the game this weekend.
Vanni set the new order on the rack, raising his brows in question. “You goin’ to the game?”
“Friday night? No, I’m working, genius.” I filled drinks from the soda machine and set them on the counter.
“Oh, well…one of us could cover for you if you want to go,” he offered.
“Thanks, but?—”
“Yeah, yeah…another time,” Vanni intercepted, quickly changing the topic. “I hear we’re doing the bake-off with the bagel folks.”
“No one officially agreed to a bake-off.”
“Amber said you did, and—hey, what do you know? Here they come.”
I turned to the entrance just as Amber swept into the pizzeria with a bemused Rob trailing in her wake. Damn it, he was hot. Twinkly eyes, broad chest, and muscles so thick his shirt struggled to contain them.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d sucked him off, and my dick had definitely put the experience into the “good memory” box. I hoped my apron hid the swell behind my zipper—if not, this was going to be embarrassing.
“Oh, good! You’re all here,” Amber called in greeting.
“Speak of the devil.” My cousin waved to the newcomers. “Yo, it’s the neighbors. How’s it going in bagel land?”
“Excellent! Listen, I need a final answer today about the bake-off. I have the reporter lined up to do an interview, and I’ve created some titillating social media posts to get everyone firedup. Here. Check these out.” Amber passed an iPad across the counter.
I scrolled through her slogans and reluctantly had to admit…they weren’t terrible.Do you bagel or pizza? Bagel me this…or pizza me that. Bagels, morning, noon, and night. Can pizza do that?
“These are good,” I said.
“Thank you! Mrs. Malveney is so excited, it isn’t even funny. This could be a gigantic fund raiser for the football program and?—”
“Both of our shops,” I finished. Christ, I’d heard Amber’s spiel so many times, I could have recited it myself. “We know, we know.”
“So…are we doing this?” That was Rob, his gaze locked on me with an intensity that got my motor running.
If we were alone, I wouldn’t have thought twice about plastering my body all over his.Scary shit.The last time I’d wanted someone this badly, it hadn’t gone well. I’d learned my lesson, and I’d vowed not to do stupid shit with men I couldn’t trust.
Except I sort of trusted Rob. I couldn’t say why, but I supposed it had something to do with knowing he was a semi-closeted professional athlete. Like I’d been. My story was old, but I could relate to some of the angst and fear I assumed he’d experienced. Even if I was wrong about that, I couldn’t deny the physical pull between us.
Vanni and Amber stared at us expectantly.
“Jimmy and Sal are in, and I’m cool with it. What do you think, Cuz?” Vanni prodded.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, we’ll do it.”
Heads turned as Amber squealed, punching her fist in the air triumphantly. “Yes! Awesome. The format will be a simple once-a-week sample contest, which will give us both a chanceto advertise our goodies, and will culminate with a finale at the beginning of December. That’s six weeks of?—”
“Six weeks?” Rob and I sputtered in unison.
“It’s all about the buildup,” Amber explained. “We have to get the word out and get the frenzy going.”
I frowned, skirting the counter to avoid disturbing our customers. “I thought this was a one-time deal. What are we going to do for six weeks? We have businesses to run.”
“That wouldn’t do justice to either of us,” she argued. “We have to milk this through the entire football season and get our audience revved up. Here’s an idea…Rob could make marinara from scratch. We could put it in small paper cups for customers to taste and rate. And Mateo could make everything bagel bites and do the same thing. I think our customers will go nuts! We’ll post a new video every week leading up to the finale.”
Huh.Sounded like extra work for yours truly, but she was right about one thing…it would draw people in.
“I don’t know how to make marinara sauce,” Rob griped.
