Page 46 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Five

Rob

G reat H Bagels opened for business on a cloudy Saturday morning in autumn. The windows were so clean, they sparkled off the glare of the pendant lights over the counter. The glass cases adjacent to the marble counter were stuffed to capacity with a medley of flavored bagels: plain, poppyseed, onion, chocolate, everything—you name it, we had it.

We also offered specialty gourmet creations like the ones we’d served at our preopening party and a “build your own bagel sandwich” option, along with a variety of standard sandwiches ranging from breakfast to turkey, roast beef, chicken salad, and tuna.

Oh yeah, and we had pizza bagels.

I highly doubted we’d sell many, but I had no regrets. Every time I thought of that altercation or whatever the fuck had happened with Mateo in my kitchen, I got hot under the collar. Seriously. I wanted to punch a hole in the wall or punch his freaking gorgeous face. Ugh . As much as I hated to admit it, Mateo was hotter now than he’d been in college. Too bad he was a dick.

Back then, I’d used every superpower in my arsenal not to notice his chiseled features and sexy ass. I noticed now, and it pissed me off. Thus, the pizza bagels…which, by the way, weren’t terrible.

They weren’t flying off the shelves, though. Our best sellers so far were the baker’s dozen, the breakfast sandwich supreme with scrambled eggs, avocados, red onions, and special secret sauce…oh, and our gourmet smoked lox and caviar was a big hit. In fact, in the two weeks we’d been open, business had been fantastic.

Haverton liked bagels.

Not that I was surprised. Amber and I had done our research. A college-slash-beach town practically required a bagel shop, and it was criminal that the residents had gone without for so long. Of course, I knew that to some degree, I was the novelty.

The name alone was a nod to the football team. Haverton Hawks were also known as the Great Hawks and the school itself, Great H. As an alumni and former player, I had no qualms with advertising my personal connection to the town. My jerseys from college and every pro team I’d played on had been framed and lovingly hung on the brick wall. It was a statement: I’m one of you. I belong.

Of course, if the bagels sucked, the novelty would wear off fast. But we’d hired a talented crew and with my grandfather’s recipe book and Amber’s marketing and culinary skills, we were in fine shape. Much to our neighbor’s chagrin.

I still couldn’t believe he was selling pizza bagels. Did I mention that Mateo Cavaretti was a dick?

“Mr. Vilmer, will you sign my shirt, please?”

I stepped away from the counter and smiled at the kid who might have been around ten or eleven. “Sure. Got a pen?”

His dad happened to have a marker on hand. I didn’t recognize him, but apparently, we’d had a statistics class together in college. He wanted to talk football, though, so I obliged for a minute or so before moving on to greet the other customers in line.

I was the resident celebrity here, and I knew it was important to use whatever we had to get people in the door, but I wasn’t naturally gregarious. I preferred being behind the counter, ringing up sales. However, the busier we were, the more distracting my presence was at the register.

Customers wanted a sporty side scoop with their bagels. What was Tom Brady like? Which QB currently had the best arm? Who was my favorite teammate? Where had I liked playing the best? I never minded answering questions, but being the focus of attention got old. I found myself dipping out of the shop for a breather, which inevitably led me to Boardwalk Pizza.

I didn’t always go inside. No, I was more of a lurker.

Other than Mateo, they were a nice group. Vanni was a goofball, Jimmy was a cool dude who was a little full of himself, and Sal was reserved but always friendly. If Mateo wasn’t at the counter, I’d say hello with a bag of free bagels and cream cheese on hand, order a slice, and shoot the shit for a minute or two.

Sometimes a growly Mateo would make an appearance and that was awkward, but whatever. I wasn’t going anywhere, so he might as well get used to seeing me around.

Besides if there was a pizza-bagel war happening, I needed to know the rules.

I’d assumed his initial strategy would be to ignore me until he had a competitive product and I’d been right. Vanni had spilled the beans to Amber and me about the new kettle they’d purchased. He’d said it was bound to be a write-off, but a week later, Boardwalk Pizza featured their first ever pizza bagel…a basic marinara, cheese, and pepperoni number.

I’d wanted to buy one, but Mateo was at the counter that day.

Our conversation had gone something like this:

Me, tapping the glass: “I’ll take one of those.”

Mateo, shaking his head, a feral gleam in his eye. “I’m not selling you a pizza bagel. Sorry, champ.”

“How mature of you. I’ll pay double.”

“No.”

“Triple.”

Mateo had turned away and returned with a slice of their pizza of the day. “Take it and beat it. Next in line, please.”

Fucker.

Vanni had brought me a pizza bagel over an hour later. On the house. “Sorry about that. Teo’s a hothead. We can use an expert opinion, but I gotta tell you, I think these are okay. Not as good as yours, but still decent.”

I’d agreed. So had Amber, who’d laughed at the idea of our pizza-bagel war.

“It seems more like two jocks pissing on each other’s cleats for funsies. Guys are so weird.” She’d snorted.

True. But you know what? Mateo had started it, so when he’d slipped in the door to clandestinely check out our business, I’d given him a taste of his own medicine.

“Your money is no good here,” I’d said in greeting, a phony grin pasted to my mug. “Anything you want is on the house.”

Mateo had cocked his head and frowned. “I don’t want anything.”

“You’re here. You must want something,” I’d taunted.

“Yeah, I wanted to see if you’d come to your senses.”

“Nope. I guess that means we’re still at war.”

“Guess so,” he’d grumbled, turning on his heels.

Yep, the rules of war had been unclear. That was until Mateo renamed his pizza bagel, “The Best in Town.”

It was a subtle dig, but I couldn’t ignore it. I retaliated by sticking mini pennants in our pizza bagels, labeled, “The Original.” And “The Best Ever.” Hokey and childish? Yes. And I couldn’t wait till someone told him.

Sure enough, Mateo stormed in the next day to scoff at my pizza bagel and made a snide remark about the pennants. “Gee, I wonder if the owner ever played football.”

Fuck that guy.

Yet here I was, sneaking out of my own store to see what my unpleasant neighbor was up to now…because I kind of got a cheap thrill from winding him up. It was as if I’d tapped into a hidden power. Not as exciting as mind reading or an invisibility cloak, but knowing I’d needled my way under Mateo’s skin was oddly gratifying.

If I were completely honest, there was more to this feud for me. Try not to laugh, but…I had the attention of the hottest guy in town, the most popular jock in college, the goddamn star quarterback.

Time had marched on. We were adults, and he was still straight. Plus, he didn’t like me. But he noticed me.

Mateo peeked into my store window when he thought I wasn’t looking. He asked Amber about me, mentioned me to his cousin. Mateo Cavaretti was thinking about me. Often.

I liked it.

And today, I was feeling brave.

I spotted Mateo behind the counter, sporting his ubiquitous red-and-white checked shirt and a grungy white apron. The combo should have given “picnic with a pig” vibes but instead was annoyingly sexy.

That could have just been him.

Mateo had a great smile, damn it. His eyes crinkled, his full lips parted and snagged on one of his incisors, and his dimples were the stuff of teen magazines. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and dreamy. Always had been. I hated that the sight of him made my pulse skitter, but it fascinated me too. After all this time, Mateo Cavaretti still got to me.

“Ah, look who’s here. Business must be slow,” he greeted me as I approached the counter.

“Nope. The line is out the door.” Slight exaggeration, but we were busy enough. And so was he. There wasn’t anyone waiting for service, but almost every table was taken.

“Good for you. If you’re here looking for new ideas…don’t. I’ve decided to trademark everything in the store. If you steal any?—”

“Steal? Are you fucking joking?”

“Watch the language, Vilmer. This is a family establishment. My ma would smack you upside the head if she heard you talkin’ like that. We keep it clean here.”

I pointed at his messy apron. “Ri-ght…real clean. And who’s stealing from who? You bought a bagel kettle.”

“You made a pizza bagel! Pizza!” Mateo picked up a pizza box and tapped it obnoxiously. “Look at this…established in Brooklyn, New York in 1900, established in Haverton in 1958. Same year the Dodgers moved to LA. That means we’ve been here for well over sixty years. You haven’t even been open sixty days, genius. So don’t twist my words or?—”

“Oh, look at you guys…getting along.” Amber breezed into the restaurant, waving at Vanni through the kitchen partition before nudging my elbow at the counter.

“He started it,” Mateo said.

She huffed. “Don’t you think this feud is kind of silly?”

“No,” we replied in unison.

“Well, it is. It’s petty and ridiculous and—” Amber paused abruptly, pushing an errant curl behind her ear as she cast a wary glance between us. “Oh, my God. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“Think of what?” one of us asked.

“I have an idea. A great one!” Her mischievous smile made me nervous. Especially when she rubbed her palms together in scheming mode. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

Mateo skewered her with a puzzled look, but his animosity for me didn’t apply to Amber. And like me…he was probably curious.

He motioned for Vanni to take over, then led us to his office, located down a narrow hallway opposite the kitchen.

This was my first backstage pass to one of my college haunts, and I felt almost giddy with anticipatory nostalgia.

Like every other football player at Haverton, Boardwalk Pizza had been a post-practice staple for me. As Mateo had implied, it was as much a part of the town as the amusement park at the pier and the statue of Colonel Haverton that stood at the top of the hill on campus, a la Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro. But I’d never seen the kitchen up close or checked out the collage of family photos along the narrow hallway.

The kitchen was smaller than ours and full of well-used appliances. Sal minded one of the giant pots on the behemoth stove while Jimmy kneaded dough at the flour-strewn prep space. They were too engrossed in their work to notice us, or possibly couldn’t hear anything above the din of the Springsteen classic on the radio. I wanted a closer peek at the small bagel kettle, but the collage wall was much more interesting.

The faded colors and styles of clothing hinted at the bygone eras. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and more cousins…and Mateo. I spied a photo of him in his high school football uniform. The roguish smile and mischievous glint were still present, but his youthful cockiness had soured into mistrust and weariness now.

Still hot, though.

Mateo sat on the corner of a battered desk littered with paper work and an old computer. “I’d offer you a seat, but…I don’t have one.”

“No worries. I’m tight on time.” Amber pulled her cell from her pristine apron and typed a message.

“What’s this idea?” I prodded.

“A bake-off.” She had the nerve to grin like a loon.

“Huh?” Mateo and I shared matching befuddled glances.

“Mrs. Malveney put the idea in my head at the opening party and after weeks of listening to you two nitpick and one-up each other, I think it’s time to do something positive with all this…testosterone.” She circled her wrist meaningfully. “I have a degree in marketing, and I’m good at highlighting positives to sell a product. I’ve been wracking my brain on ways to spin your feud, and it’s really so obvious. We’ll advertise it as a fund raiser for the football team, but let’s be honest, it’s great for business for both of us. Local jocks duking it out over pizza and bagels…for charity.”

“A charity bake-off?”

Amber beamed. “Yep! Brilliant, huh?”

“Wouldn’t that contest be between me and you?” Mateo asked. “I thought you were the head chef.”

“Yep! Rob’s a total disaster in the kitchen,” she replied, her gaze dropping for a moment to the phone buzzing in her hand.

“Hey!”

She slugged his arm playfully. “You know it’s true, and that’s what would make this fun. Okay, look, I gotta run. They need me next door. I’ll come up with some ideas, but I’m loving the contest concept with a couple of friendly judges. Maybe a food blogger or two and members of the current Great H football team. It’s October, and they’re in the middle of their season. The timing couldn’t be better. We’ve got to strike while the iron is hot…and all that jazz. Details to follow! Toodle-oo!”

She was gone in a blur of golden curls, leaving an awkward silence.

Mateo lifted one eyebrow, cartoon-style. “I feel like I just got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

“That’s Amber for you.” I scratched my nape and exhaled. “Uh…it’s not a terrible idea.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he stood. “No, it’s a good one. But she’s your business partner, so I gotta think this is gonna be rigged in your favor.”

“Is it possible for you to not be a dick for one whole minute?” I fumed. “Jesus, I don’t remember you being a cynical fucknut with a martyr complex when we were teammates.”

Mateo scoffed. “How would you know what I was like? We barely knew each other in college.”

“Except we were on the same fucking team. I guess you were too busy shining your halo while the defense did your dirty work to notice anyone else.”

Okay, I had no idea why I’d said that. It wasn’t true. Mateo had been a great QB. It was a stupid dig designed to get a reaction…and it worked.

“ My halo? Not sure where that’s coming from, but it’s rich coming from a blowhard linebacker who’s got his jersey plastered on every inch of spare wall in a fucking bagel store.” He lowered his voice, his lips twisted in an evil sneer. “And you’re the one who wants to do cross-promo advertising. Why is that? It’s like you need me or something.”

Grrr. I leaned into his space—so close, I could see the vein pulse at his temple. Unfortunately, I also noticed that his eyelashes were ridiculously long and that his lips were full and lush and— Stop.

I clung to anger, stabbing my finger at Mateo’s chest. “Nice one, but I don’t need you. Unlike you, I’ll figure it out myself. Must have been sweet to have a business handed to you, but gee, my daddy didn’t give me a shop to run or?—”

“You fucking prick.” Mateo raised his fist as if to punch me.

I dodged him and collided with the desk. He spun around with his dukes up again. No thanks. I’d made a career out of wrestling on the field and had the battle scars to prove it. I had no intention of adding more. Besides, this wasn’t how real adults dealt with frustration, for fuck’s sake.

I captured Mateo’s wrists and pulled him against me to keep him from using his legs or body weight as a weapon. He was strong, but I was stronger, not to mention bigger and thicker all over.

“We’re not doing this,” I growled.

“Like hell we’re not. You don’t know anything about me or my family or my…”

Shit, Mateo was on a roll now, and he didn’t seem to have noticed that my grip had loosened in his tirade. I couldn’t follow what he was saying. Something about family and pizza and blah, blah, blah.

Hey, it was probably interesting info, but the more fired up he got, the more I noticed him —his thick brows, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his chiseled cheekbones, and that mouth—so angry, so tough, so fierce, so goddamn hot. I was staring and I knew it, but I couldn’t look away.

After what felt like twenty minutes, he finally shut up.

I had to let his wrist go and say something…anything. I was frozen, though. So was Mateo. He didn’t bother shaking me off. He narrowed his gaze slightly, lips parted. So damn sexy.

Heat rose between, us and wave upon wave of something potent yet undefined rushed in like high tide. I couldn’t tell if I was in danger of combusting or drowning or in some kind of freefall, unmoored and unhinged. All because of him.

It pissed me off.

And just like that, my mouth was on Mateo’s. And he welcomed me.

He thrust his tongue inside, my fingers in his hair, his fist clutching at my shirt. I couldn’t think, and I could barely breathe. It was as if there were a system malfunction and I no longer had control of my body. This was all instinct—like it had been when I was in uniform, wrestling an opponent to submission. I didn’t want to tackle Mateo now. I wanted to own him.

He dragged my bottom lip between his teeth and ravaged my mouth again, driving his tongue so deep he hit the back of my throat. He eased the pressure but not the intensity. I lowered my hands to his ass and drew him close. Holy fuck. Yeah, I’d been hoping for friction, but the feel of his hard cock through two layers of denim was too damn much. I was gonna come in my jeans.

I’d had some hot and uninhibited sexy times, but I’d always been in control. Neither of us was now. The only saving grace was that I knew without a doubt that Mateo felt it too.

I held his face still in an attempt to resurface, licking his jawline and biting his earlobe. “Stop. We’re not doing this here.”

He blinked as if in a daze. “I—you. I didn’t know you were…”

“Yeah. I am.”

Mateo went perfectly still before pulling away and glancing toward the door. “This is…a new one. My cousins are probably debating which one of us is walking out of here alive.”

I didn’t know what to say to that or what should happen next. My God, I’d just tongue-fucked my neighbor-slash-rival and former teammate…who hated me. Talk about awkward.

“Right. Um…”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he assured me in a softer tone.

“I’m out. I mean…not all the way out, but it’s in the works.”

Mateo cocked his chin curiously. “In the works?”

“According to my manager, 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.’ ” I shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure who’ll care, but I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

“Oh.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “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.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very fucking difficult?”

Mateo widened his 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.” He gave me a heated once-over, lingering on my crotch.

I knew I had to proceed with caution, but the bolt of desire threw me off guard. No one had looked at me with that kind of hunger in a long, long time.

With a speed I hadn’t tapped into in a while, I pushed him against the wall and caged him between my arms.

“Same,” I panted, dragging my erection alongside his.

Our noses brushed and our gazes held steady. If he were anyone else, I’d ask for his number so we could meet up later and get this out of our systems, but…Mateo? I didn’t know what to do with him.

So I pushed away and headed for the door.

Noise from the kitchen and the pizza parlor came rushing in, effectively breaking the spell. What the hell had I done? This was a disaster in the making.