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“Congratulations,” I said, managing a sincere smile.

She motioned between Rob and me. “I know we all went to college together, but it was ages ago. Sometimes I forget that you and Rob played football together.”

I slid my gaze toward the big guy standing behind her. Rob wasn’t exactly handsome—his jaw was too strong and his nose had been broken more than once. However, his size and build made you take a second glance. And as much as I hated to admit, he cleaned up well in a navy sport coat, blue oxford shirt, and jeans.

“We did. Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course.” Rob tilted his chin in acknowledgment. “Glad you could make it.”

Coach slapped my back and chuckled lightly. “It’s a treat to be able to brag that two of my star players are business owners in town. You’re a great example to a younger generation.”

And with very little prodding, he launched into a trip down memory lane involving a fourth-quarter Hail Mary at a championship game. Not gonna lie, that was one of my best throws ever, but reliving college glory days with a guy who’d taken his career to the next level was a little humbling. Unfortunately, it was impossible to walk away from Coach without being rude, and the man had always been good to me.

Amber and Mrs. Malveney drifted into another conversation, but just as Coach had settled into storyteller mode, a parent of one of his current players interrupted. Rob and I waved off his apologies and stepped aside. And okay, maybe I should have left well enough alone and let the guy enjoy his party, but I was curious about the renovation. We were definitely going to need to make some improvements next door, and it seemed like a harmless conversational segue.

“What’s your new kitchen like?”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him, deftly maneuvering through the press of bodies. The brick wall dividing the store from the kitchen provided a nice sound barrier. I could actually hear myself think as I studied the stainless steel ovens, the large kettle for boiling bagels, the commercial-grade refrigerator, and the ample workspace with a twinge of envy.

Rob spread his arms wide. “This is where the magic happens.”

“Huh. Well, this is really—” I stopped short and pointed at the congested counter. “That’s a fucking pizza bagel.”

Yep, lo and behold, there on a large silver tray were dozens of pizza canapes—sausage, pepperoni, a sprig of basil, feta, goat cheese, pine nuts. They looked gourmet, and damn it, they looked delicious.

“Try one,” he urged.

“No, thanks.”

“C’mon, don’t be a dick.” Rob picked up a pesto, goat cheese, and sausage bagel bite and offered it to me on a napkin.

“I refuse on principle,” I growled. “I told you not to?—”

He shoved the bagel bite into my mouth.

The fucking nerve. And you know what was worse? It was delicious.

Of course, that was beside the point.

I glowered as I wiped the corners of my mouth. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn his gaze followed my tongue with the kind of attention that gave me all the wrong ideas. And what the actual fuck was I thinking? Rob Vilmer was off-limits, all caps. Not only was he most likely straight as an arrow, he was a minor celebrityand…he was a jerk.

“Good, isn’t it?” Rob’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was predatory and dangerous, and damn, that did something for me. All the wrong things.

“It’s edible.”

He barked a laugh. “You’re a piece of work, Cavaretti.”

“Me? You’re shamelessly poaching my business!”

“I’m not poaching your business. For fuck’s sake, man. I never intended to make pizza bagels, but?—”

“You did. So, congratulations, you’ve just started a pizza war.”

Christ, I sounded like a moron or a child who was pissed at the meanie who’d called dibs on his favorite swing at recess. I hated coming across as a dumb jock to someone who used to know me as being relatively cool under pressure. Now…well, I wasn’t at my best.

Rob shook his head in undisguised amusement. “A pizza war. That’s a new one. And how does that work? Are there rules in a pizza war, like…only five pepperonis on each slice or a quarter cup of mozzarella and it has to be from a specific region in Italy or?—”

“Funny. Very funny. Hey, I came tonight ’cause I was curious. I’d hoped you’d done the right thing, but no, you actually made the pizza bagels.”