Page 10

Chapter ten

Mike

If someone had told me last week that I’d be voluntarily eating in the faculty break room instead of hiding in my classroom like a normal, socially avoidant teacher, I would have laughed in their face. And yet, there I was, sitting across from Mateo, eating what I suspected was supposed to be pizza but more closely resembled a school cafeteria crime against humanity.

“So,” Mateo said, eyeing my plate like it might bite him, “you’re really going for it, huh?”

I sighed, poking at the questionable cheese layer. “I made my choices. I will live with them.”

Mateo smirked. “Brave. Foolish, but brave.”

I shrugged and took a very tentative bite. It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever eaten, but it was definitely in the top five.

Mateo, because he was a smart man, had brought his own lunch: some kind of grilled chicken and rice that actually looked edible—and annoyingly healthy. He watched as I suffered through mine, taking entirely too much pleasure from my pain.

“So, Mike,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “How’s your new school treating you? Still getting bullied by your students?”

I scoffed. “You say that like they would ever stop.”

Mateo grinned. “Jessica still hitting on you?”

“Relentlessly.”

“Did she upgrade to actual marriage proposals yet?”

“Not yet,” I said, sighing. “But we’re on day four, so honestly? It’s only a matter of time.”

Mateo chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re handling it well, though. Gotta say, I expected you to be a little more flustered.”

“Oh, I’m flustered,” I admitted. “I just hide it better now. I’ve accepted my fate. This is my life now. Constant teenage judgment and the occasional mild harassment.”

Mateo saluted with a forkful of chicken. “Welcome back to high school, my friend.”

After popping the piece of chicken into his mouth, he went on. “So, you always been a teacher, or did you fall into this job by accident?”

“Always wanted to do it.” I exhaled, leaning back. “I was one of those weird kids who actually liked reading and thought convincing other people to like it too sounded like a fun challenge.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that working out for you?”

I snorted. “So far? Not great. They’re very resistant to my charm.”

“You gotta ease them in, man. Sneak attack the learning.”

“Oh, trust me,” I said. “I have plans. This year, I’m determined to make at least one jock cry over Of Mice and Men .”

Mateo laughed loudly, nearly choking on his chicken, which, when I thought about it, made me laugh. “You’re evil. I love it.”

“Thank you,” I said solemnly.

“What about outside school?” he asked. “You got hobbies?”

I hesitated. “Uh. I mean, yeah. I read. Run. Hike sometimes. I like pretending I can cook, even though all evidence suggests otherwise.”

Mateo tilted his head. “Wait, pretend you can cook?”

I groaned. “Yeah. About that . . .”

We chatted through our lunches, new friends asking questions, poking fun, and enjoying a moment without teenage angst weighing us down like boat anchors.

And speaking of teenage angst, I hadn’t planned on talking about my date with Elliot, but Mateo asked about my hobbies, and somehow, within minutes, I was spiraling into a full-on Jessica-level confession about Friday night’s disaster.

“So,” I said, leaning forward, “tell me why I thought it was a great idea to cook dinner for this guy?”

Mateo blinked. “Wait. What guy?”

“The hot lineman who lives a few doors down from my new house. Stay with me.”

“Oh, hold up. You had a date?” Mateo’s eyes widened. “And you’re just now mentioning this? Dude, guy code. You have to stick to the code.”

I cocked my head in utter confusion.

“No secrets, especially about dates. It’s a friend thing, and we’re friends, right?”

I had to think about that. We’d only known each other a week; and sure, we worked together, but I didn’t really know Mateo. And he was gay . . . and hot . . . and muscular. What if he had a thing for me? Or thought I had one for him? This When Harry Met Sally moment was basically a gay existential crisis dripping with bad cafeteria cheese and old pepperoni.

But, never one to be put off by a good tragedy, I barreled forward.

“It was a disaster.”

“Okay, okay, go back—start over. I need details. My own dating life is basically frozen in time more than the glacial belt, so I need this. Seriously. Speak.”

Mental note: Mateo isn’t dating anyone. I had no idea what to do with that information but somehow knew it was important for the future.

I sighed, dramatically rubbing my face. “I invited him over. Confidently. Like a man who had control over his life. Like a man who knew how to cook.”

Mateo nodded, amused. “And . . . ?”

“And,” I continued, “what I failed to consider is that I’m an idiot who can’t cook shit. Literally, if you gave me shit, I would make it, well, shittier.”

“What happened, exactly? I feel a Lifetime special coming.”

“Disaster,” I said flatly. “Full-scale culinary warfare.”

Mateo leaned forward, fully invested now. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“First, I burned the sauce. And not like a little burned, like so burned that my smoke alarm filed a police report.”

Mateo laughed, shaking his head.

“Then I overcooked the pasta until it had the consistency of wet sadness. The garlic bread? Charcoal. The chicken? It was basically clucking and looking for corn to eat.”

Mateo’s eyes widened. “Damn. That’s impressive.”

“Right?” I sighed. “So, obviously, we ordered pizza.”

Mateo smirked. “And this guy—he didn’t run for the hills?”

“No, but that’s not even the worst part.”

“ Mio Dio .” Mateo grinned. “This gets better?”

“Better is a relative statement.” I dragged a hand down my face. “After dinner, we’re standing at the door, right? The moment is there. Like, full-blown rom-com-level tension.”

Mateo nodded. “And?”

“And we lean in. Like, full-on ‘this is about to happen’ levels of leaning. My lips are pooching, and my butt’s puckering . . .”

Mateo sat forward, entirely too invested now. “And?!”

I groaned. “And then Homer charged in and began humping his leg with the force of a thousand suns.”

Mateo froze.

Then he burst out laughing.

“No!” He wheezed, clutching his chest.

“Yes!” I dragged my hands through my hair. “And Elliot? He just stood there, casually accepting his fate.”

Mateo was fully losing it now. “Oh, my God. Your dog cockblocked you.”

“Aggressively.”

Mateo wiped tears from his eyes. “Dude, I don’t even know what to say. That’s . . . that’s beautiful.”

“It was mortifying.”

“It was iconic.”

I groaned. “I may never recover from this.”

Mateo shook his head, still grinning. “Nah. This is just chapter one of your romance, Mike. You gotta embrace it.”

I sighed, shaking my head, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

Because, yeah. It was ridiculous.

But . . . Elliot hadn’t run.

And something told me that lined up with what Mateo just said.

This was only the beginning.