Page 9 of Party of Three (Sapphire Cove Suite Secrets)

“Father Jones strikes again. Soon as I told them I had a boyfriend, they went to Jones to talk about it. He said if they allowed me to bring Buckley this Christmas, they were violating God’s will for me.

I don’t even think they really believe it.

They just worship the guy more than Jesus.

He was there for them and all of their friends when they first came to America, so the bond is… intense.”

“So they told you Buckley couldn’t come to the house and then what?”

“I said it was either both of us or neither of us.”

Jeff was stunned. And impressed. The Mateo of two years ago lived in mortal fear of disappointing his mom and dad.

“Good for you, man,” Jeff said.

“Buckley’s worth it.”

But there was heartbreak in his eyes. Mateo lived for Christmas.

Whenever he’d told stories about all the decorations he’d plaster all over his parents’ house, he’d turn bright-eyed and boyish, earning a fair amount of ribbing from his fellow Marines.

Padre Navidad, they’d called him. And Mateo had accepted the title proudly.

“He’s what you need.”

Mateo looked to his boyfriend. “So when did you guys connect? I mean, how’d he find you? ’Cause you didn’t exactly make it easy.”

Might as well cut right to it, Jeff thought. “I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Of college?” Mateo asked.

“Of Buckley. You and Buckley.”

There, I fucking said it. If he doesn’t know how bad I ache for him after that, I’ve got no other way to say it.

“I don’t think he would have let you.” Mateo’s eyes found his dancing boyfriend. “Buckley’s unstoppable.”

He was looking at the man in question the way he’d just looked at Jeff. Like he’d followed a cord of desire connecting them both, and the desire he felt for the man at each end was equal.

“So he knows,” Jeff said, and Mateo looked back at him. “About San Diego. You and me…”

Mateo nodded. He seemed distant and lost in thought, the same way he had during his Marine Corps days when he was trying to work up the nerve to overcome his fears.

“When did you tell him?”

“Yesterday.”

Which meant the guy had barely had time to recover.

And given Jeff’s radio silence after the initial invite, he’d probably assumed he wasn’t coming and it wouldn’t be an issue.

Sure, it would have been ballsy for Buckley to write back into that void, asking Jeff not to come after all.

But he’d already nicknamed the guy firecracker based on his smart mouth, so could Jeff really put it past him?

Mateo looked like he was processing this information as well.

“Did you guys meet? Like, in person?” Mateo sounded so tense, he might as well have asked him if they’d hooked up.

“He slipped a note under my door with his phone number.”

Mateo was smiling into his drink suddenly.

“What?” Jeff asked.

“For a second there out front I thought maybe you guys had history too,” Mateo said, then stole a quick sip of champagne.

Well, there’s this story about Japan , but Jeff didn’t want to go there yet so he changed subjects. “How did it come up?” he said instead. “You know, you and me in Pacific Beach and what’s his name?”

Heart racing, Jeff was back in that motel room again. Watching the joy come into Mateo’s eyes as he’d pounded that hungry little dancer, then the eagerness in his expression when he’d looked to him for approval, and Jeff had responded in the only way he could, with their first deep, devouring kiss.

Mateo’s easy smile made Jeff go soft in some places and hard in others, all places he should be rushing to armor as he headed for the exit.

The first night of the trip had been a fantasy made real.

On the last night, everything had fallen apart, but they’d pretended otherwise.

That’s when Jeff had unleashed his dominant desires and beneath him Mateo had stiffened with resistance, a terrible moment of understanding, a recognition of deep, primal incompatibility, followed by a look of disappointment on Mateo’s face when he realized he couldn’t give Jeff everything he wanted.

And Jeff had backed off, assuming with dread in his gut and a terrible ache in his heart, that he’d ended their friendship by reaching too far and too fast for something that wasn’t his to claim.

Worse, he’d assumed that if he’d pressed harder, Mateo might have given him something he didn’t want to give, and the prospect hurt him like a bullet in his gut.

Mateo carefully sipped his drink. “I sent you an invite, a card. It got returned. When I saw it in the mail I told him it was probably…”

“Probably what?”

“For the better. That you didn’t come. Given our history.”

Jeff’s heart was in his throat. “Still feel that way?”

Mateo’s eyes met his. “Hell, no. Didn’t feel that way then. It just seemed like something to say. I was upset. He could tell. And he knows who you are, obviously. I’ve got a picture of you on my wall. You and me, I mean.”

Jeff tried not to blush. He’d been having the same thought about that photo ever since Buckley had mentioned it. It was another sign Mateo didn’t think of those nights back in San Diego the way Jeff did. With remorse and threads of shame woven through them.

“I missed you,” Mateo said. “It hurt, how much I missed you.”

Suddenly there was no music, no other guests.

Just those big, pleading brown eyes and that earnest soul, older and more mature now.

More comfortable in his skin. More intoxicating and hypnotic.

More aware of what he wanted. And right now, even with his boyfriend dancing a few feet away, what he wanted seemed to be Jeff.

“So what’d you get me?” Mateo asked. “For my birthday?”

“It’s over on the gift table. I’ll grab it.”

He was grateful for the chance to pull away from the seductive power of Mateo’s gaze, but he’d barely taken a step before the man seized his wrist in a powerful grip. “I’ve got a better idea.”

They were face-to-face, noses almost touching. They hadn’t been this close since that night.

“Go dance with my boyfriend.”

For a second, he thought the request was Mateo’s way of defusing the tension between his old mentor and the man he loved.

But Mateo hadn’t seen that tension in action.

What he was asking for, and the hungry way he’d asked for it, seemed like something altogether more complicated.

But there was unsteadiness in his voice, too, a bit of fear, as if he was trying to make himself comfortable with the thought of Jeff and Buckley dancing together.

Jeff was about to protest. He didn’t dance to fast songs, and Buckley was surrounded.

Then the band launched into a slow rendition of “Bésame Mucho,” and half the dance floor either coupled up or cleared out, leaving a clean path between him and Buckley, who was staring at him with a look in his eyes that seemed as hungry as the one in Mateo’s.