Page 42 of Coach (Heartstrings of Honor #4)

Mateo

B y noon, I was seated at our usual corner booth in the back of The Rusty Spoon, a hole-in-the-wall diner with mismatched chairs and the best damn chicken salad in the metro area.

Mike and Sisi flanked me on either side like twin interrogators.

Correction: like nosey, ruthless, impossible-to-distract interrogators.

“So.” The second my butt hit vinyl, Sisi leaned in, her eyes glittering with unholy glee. “You look well fucked.”

I choked on my water. “Jesus, Sisi—”

Mike grinned. “She’s not wrong. You’re glowing, positively radiant . . . and that’s hard to do with your olive complexion. Well done.”

“I’m not—” I rubbed my face. “I’m just . . . tired.”

“I bet you are.” Sisi waggled her brows. “Tired because you spent the night getting railed by Captain America and his super-dick. Does it wear a tiny cape, too? I always wondered.”

“Stop!” I hissed, my face already flaming. “It wasn’t like that.”

Mike leaned on his elbow. “So it was gentle and romantic?”

Sisi snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen the man. That dude does not do gentle.”

“I am not talking about the sex,” I declared, crossing my arms like that might protect me.

They exchanged a glance, a very dangerous, conspiratorial look.

“Oh, honey,” Sisi said, reaching across and patting my arm like a mother soothing a teething child. “You think you have a choice. That’s just precious.”

“Come on, spill it.” Mike grinned. “Positions? How many times? Did he throw you around? Use some of his tools on you? Do you have bruises?”

“I—what?! Tools? No. Jesus.”

“Jesus was there?” Sisi cocked her head. “That’s hard to believe. It doesn’t sound like his scene.”

My head fell back on the cushioned seat, and I tried to remember a time when I wasn’t blushing all the way to my toes.

Thank God, the waitress arrived. For a brief moment, the chatter at our table shifted to waffles and chicken and salad and . . .

“Did the sexy woodsman chop your tree?” Sisi asked before the waitress got away, earning an ear-to-ear grin from the older woman who, for a heartbeat, looked as though she might pull up a chair just to listen.

I dropped my face into my hands. “I hate both of you.”

Mike leaned in. “Come on. You know we’ve been waiting for this. Throw us a bone.”

“I think Shane already did that,” Sisi offered.

Mike choked laughing.

Then Sisi’s laser beams homed in tighter. I swear I could hear a mechanical cockpit voice screaming, “Collision! Collision! Collision! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!”

Sisi fanned herself. “A strong, silent, naked woodworker, and our poor Mateo is smitten.”

“I am not —”

She waggled her eyebrows. “You let him carry you to bed, didn’t you?”

“Can I please just tell you what happened before you pick me to death?” I groaned, swiping a hand down my face.

Sisi leaned back, smirking. “Fine. But know that I am pouncing the second you finish.”

Mike crossed his arms. “Proceed, Counselor.”

I huffed. “Okay. So, after . . . everything—”

“Ravishment,” Sisi whispered.

Mike snorted into his drink.

I clamped my lips shut and glared.

Sisi relented, waving a hand toward me. “Proceed. We will return to the ravishment later.”

I blew out a breath. There was no avoiding this, any of it. I needed to place my head on the block and let the axman do his thing . . . or her thing, in this case.

“After we did it twice, I slept in his arms. This morning, we woke up, and he, well, he”—I fumbled for words—“looks at me—like, really looks at me, with that intense stare of his—and says all sorts of nice things about him thinking about me all the time and wanting do more sex in more ways and, shit . . . Then he adds, ‘Will you date me?’”

I let the words hang for a second, heart kicking a little even in retelling it.

“Whoa. That’s . . . direct.” Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “It sounded more like a proposal than—”

“Exactly!” I said a little too loudly. Lowering my voice and leaning forward, I added, “Then he asked me to pass the syrup as though he hadn’t just dropped a date-bomb at the table. It was so bizarre.”

Sisi nodded. “At what point did he offer you a handcrafted ring of oak and maple to seal the deal?”

“And was it a cock ring?” Mike chirped. “Every man needs a fashionable cock ring for his engagement. It’s gay law.”

The waitress chose that moment to appear, nearly tossing her tray as she laughed along with my former friends.

“Stop,” I groaned, burying my face again as they cracked up.

Mike wiped his eyes. “I mean . . . we’re happy for you. Seriously, but also—how the hell do you plan to figure out what he’s thinking? The man communicates in grunts.”

“That is my problem,” I said, voice muffled by the table. “I have no idea what happens next.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll help translate.” Sisi patted my arm. “You feed him carbs, compliment his shelves, and when in doubt—just lay back, relax your hole, and let him drill, baby, drill.”

“Sisi!”

Mike nodded. “And definitely wear fewer clothes around him. Clearly, that works.”

“Remind me again,” I said dryly, “why I hang out with you two?”

“Because you love us.” Sisi grinned. “When are you seeing him again? I mean, he proposed to date, so now you have to actually do the dating thing.”

I hesitated. Anything I said could be used against me . . .

“Tonight.”

They both jerked so hard, the table rattled.

“Tonight? You just left him after getting your ass throttled harder than a ’57 Chevy,” Sisi said.

“Can we not compare my body to a classic car, please?”

Mike tried to contain himself. “She’s not wrong. You just left his bed . . . and couch . . . and bathroom . . . and kitchen . . .”

“Mike!”

They grinned . . . and I glowered.

“Fine. We’re going to see a comedian—”

“Wait.” Mike held up a palm. “Comedian? The one you were going to take me to see? The one we are supposed to see tonight?”

“Yeah, um, about that . . .” My hand found my hair again. “There’s going to be three of us tonight.”

That’s when realization struck Sisi.

“You’re taking Shane to see Matt Rife? With my ticket?” Sisi squealed and giggled with glee.

I nodded. “You said you couldn’t go, and none of the others could make it either. We had an extra ticket, and, well, I thought it would be fun.”

“To take your new boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

She ignored me, turning to Mike instead. “You have to sit in the front row. Trust me. Just make it happen.” Then she turned to me, the light of every star ever to soar in the heavens sparkling in her evil, twisted eyes. “Oh . . . my . . . gawd! This is going to be epic!”