Authors: Irene Preston
“I’ve hardly seen you since I’ve been back.”
“Bullshit, Garrett. We see each other here almost every day. Anyway, don’t forget Nonna’s birthday is this Sunday. We can hang out then.”
Carlo swiveled back to the computer and his invoices.
Garrett watched him for a few more minutes until it became clear that the bloody invoices were way more important to Carlo than talking to his partner.
Then he went back to the kitchen, nudged Matt out of the way, and plated the rest of the dishes for the photo shoot himself.
Chapter Five
Garrett loitered across the street from Carlo’s apartment. The diner he had just left would have been a more comfortable and less conspicuous place to be, except the waitress was a fan of
Ransom Me
. So, not comfortable or inconspicuous at all.
He had managed to remain polite while he choked down half a cup of something that she insisted was tea. He had signed a cocktail napkin for her and posed for the obligatory selfie. So nice to meet a fan, blah, blah, blah.
The good news was he had left before he felt obligated to order anything but the tea. The bad news was he was now standing on the sidewalk outside, and he needed to move soon before the waitress noticed him still here.
Mondays were Carlo’s night off. Garrett had assumed they would also be the night Carlo saw his boyfriend. Except, sitting in the shitty diner, he had realized the flaws in his plan to stake out Carlo’s apartment.
He had no idea who he was looking for. He could sit here all evening and scrutinize everyone coming and going from the building, and he still wouldn’t know anything unless he actually spotted them leaving together.
And maybe they weren’t together this evening at all. Maybe Carlo had blown off his offer of dinner last night so he could meet The Little Shit then.
Maybe this was his stupidest idea ever.
He should just go up, see Carlo, and they could discuss this like adults. After all, they were friends and partners. Whoever this guy was, Carlo should be able to talk to Garrett about him. That’s what friends did.
And Garrett would be supportive and understanding.
Unless the guy really was a shit.
He wasn’t sure what he would do then, but he would think of something, some way to get Carlo away from him. Hector was right. Carlo wasn’t the type to walk away from a relationship. Look how long he had put up with Garrett, and they were just friends. If this asshole wasn’t treating Carlo right, Garrett would put a stop to it.
He pulled out his phone and texted Carlo to let him know he was on his way up.
Carlo didn’t respond right away. And shit, this really was his stupidest idea ever. Maybe Carlo hadn’t come home last night at all.
He almost dropped the phone when it hummed a reply, and then he hightailed it across the street against the light before he could chicken out.
He could hear Carlo moving around the kitchen when he let himself in. Instead of heading straight through, Garrett made a circuit of the living room. All the pictures in the room were people he recognized, mostly assorted Rotolos and himself. He chewed on his lip, contemplating a quick foray into the bedroom. Tempting, but too awkward if Carlo caught him in there poking around.
Then his eye fell on the two beer bottles sitting on the coffee table. They weren’t next to each other, as though Carlo had finished them both himself. The bottles were placed on coasters, and they were about the distance apart of two people sitting together on the sofa.
Bollocks.
He snagged the bottles off the table and went to confront Carlo, but when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he stopped dead.
Carlo was standing at the stove with his back to Garrett feeding pasta into a pot of water. He had on an ancient, threadbare T-shirt that fit snuggly across his broad shoulders. Transfixed, Garrett watched the play of muscles under the shirt until his eye was drawn south to the globes of Carlo’s grade-A ass in a pair of faded jeans.
Off-limits
. But the voice sounded far away in his head.
You could seduce him away from The Little Shit
, a new voice countered.
For a second, he imagined himself doing it. Imagined standing behind Carlo at the stove, running his hands along those taut muscles, then sliding them down his torso, wrapping his arms around Carlo and letting his fingers play at the waistband of those jeans until he found flesh.
He licked his lips at the same moment Carlo turned and caught him staring.
“There you are.” Carlo reached for the bottles. “Thanks for bringing those in.”
Reality snapped back into focus.
“Company?” Carlo didn’t look dressed for it, unless it was a very close friend.
“Mmmm.”
Garrett wanted to see his face, but Carlo had turned away to drop the bottles into the recycling bin.
“Anyone interesting?” Their usual shorthand. Someone hot? A date?
“Just Joey.”
Had Carlo hesitated before answering?
“Your cousin Joey? From the sub shop?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? What’s he doing in the city? I didn’t think he ever left his little window.”
This time, the hesitation was pronounced, and Carlo turned away to the refrigerator before answering.
“Be nice, Garrett. He just came by to shoot the shit. I don’t get to keep up with the family as much as I should.”
The final bit sounded almost accusatory. Did he mean it was somehow Garrett’s fault? They were in Brooklyn. Carlo could see them any time. Unless he spent all his free time with the boyfriend.
Still not Garrett’s fault.
“You want dinner? There’s plenty.” Carlo put a slab of prosciutto on the counter and began shaving off slivers of meat.
Garrett watched Carlo’s big hands expertly gliding the knife through the cured meat. Carlo mostly stayed out of the kitchen at Ransom. Garrett sometimes forgot that his partner was the product of four generations of Rotolo restaurateurs and an accomplished cook in his own right.
The aroma of cured ham filled the air, rich and sweet, exactly the way the meat would taste. His imagination automatically took him further, looking for flavor combinations, but all he could think about was the way Carlo’s fingers would taste after touching the meat. He imagined drawing them into his mouth slowly, sucking the sweetness off warm flesh. He could almost feel the texture of Carlos’s skin.
“Garrett?”
Carlo was still waiting for an answer, unaware that Garrett was salivating over the concept of how he would taste.
Yeah, he was hungry. He swallowed. “Fresh pasta?”
Carlo looked injured. “Of course.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen that package of dried, processed shit you keep in your pantry.”
“Emergency rations.” Carlo gestured toward the opposite counter. “There’s still flour all over the counter. Happy?”
“Can I help?”
“If you must.”
Now Carlo sounded sad, and Garrett hadn’t meant it that way. They hadn’t cooked together in so long. He had only meant to lend a hand, and now he had offended Carlo here in his own kitchen.
“Pass me that ceramic knife. I’ll just do the basil, shall I?” He grabbed a second cutting board and scooped the pile of leaves Carlo had set aside onto it. “You want all of it, yes?”
And when Carlo nodded stiffly he added, “Is chiffonade okay, or do you prefer it chopped?”
“Ribbons are good, if you don’t mind.”
Next to him, Carlo’s voice had gone gruff. Garrett focused on the words and tried to ignore the shivers the sound sent down his spine. They were standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder, so close he could feel the warmth that always seemed to radiate off Carlo’s skin. He shifted, allowing himself a tiny brush of skin.
“Anything else?”
“Parmesan’s already grated. I’m going to drain the pasta. Can you grab the good olive oil?”
“Tall skinny bottle? Or the carafe?”
“Carafe for this, I think. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. It’s nothing fancy. I’m just going to toss it all together.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. It looks delicious.” More than fine. Back before Ransom and the show, they had cooked together regularly. “We haven’t done this in a while.”
And, suddenly, he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Who is he, Carlo?”
This time, Carlo didn’t break stride.
“Who, Sweets?” He set two placemats on the island and pulled plates out of a cabinet.
“Your boyfriend, the—” The next words stuck in his throat, and he had to force them out. “The guy you’re in love with.”
“Come again?”
Carlo had stopped moving and held the plates clutched to his chest.
Don’t lie, please don’t lie
. What did they have if Carlo would lie to his face about this? He had meant to wait, to see how Carlo would respond. He wanted to hear Carlo say that it was a mistake. That he hadn’t hidden this person. Andi and Hector were wrong. He had a crush on someone new, unimportant, not someone he’d been seeing for years.
“Sweetheart, I know. I heard Andi and Hector talking about this guy. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t approve?”
Better to force it out in the open. Better not to take the chance that Carlo would deny everything, that he wouldn’t trust Garrett with his secrets even when asked.
“I see.” Carlo hadn’t moved.
“So, who is he?”
Garrett tried his best to sound merely curious. Supportive and understanding. He could do it. For Carlo.
“Andi and Hector know it’s not something I like to talk about.” Carlo’s face had gone smooth. Not his game face from Ransom, something different. A face that reminded Garrett that Carlo’s great-great-grandfather had kept his restaurant in business through the Great Depression by laundering money for the Gambino family.
Garrett waited. Understanding. Supportive.
Carlo finally moved to set the plates down on the mats. The look on his face said the conversation was closed.
Bugger supportive. This was
shit,
and he had no skills at supportive. Garrett wanted
answers
.
When Carlo moved around the counter to set the second plate next to him, Garrett wrapped a hand around his wrist before he could move away.
“Carlo. Look at me.” No more waiting. “What is wrong with this guy? What has he done to you that you won’t tell me about him?”
Carlo stood still for a minute, and then he sighed.
“He’s not so bad, Garrett. He just….He doesn’t like commitment and… sometimes it’s hard to care more for someone than they care for you.”
“That’s it? He hasn’t done something in particular lately?”
“He just, uh, he said he needs more space.”
An emotion that could only be pain flashed in Carlo’s dark eyes before his face went smooth again. Garrett vowed right then that The Little Shit was history. No one hurt Carlo.
“Sounds like an ass. I thought you wanted to settle down. What do you see in a guy like that?”
Surprisingly, a ghost of a smile crossed Carlo’s face at this.
“He’s hot, passionate, very charismatic, and ambitious. He’s a lot like you, actually.”
Screw that.
“Except that I would never treat you like that.”
“Really, Garrett? All those men? You do it every day.”
“Not to you.”
“The situation is not so different.”
Garrett didn’t know what to say to that. What a shit comparison. Carlo was nothing like Garrett’s exes. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Anyone who couldn’t see it didn’t deserve him for a second.
“Anyway,” Carlo said, “he does care for me, in his own way. Sometimes I think he cares more than he knows. One day he’ll realize it.”
He looked up, straight into Garrett’s eyes.
Everything Garrett had been about to say was swallowed up by that look. It seeped into his soul. It spread through the dark cracks and crevasses with the warmth of aged whiskey. It was a look that had all the answers, and he couldn’t remember the question.
Carlo pulled out of his grasp and finished laying out the place settings as if nothing had happened.
Garrett sat down and tried to work out where the conversation had gone sideways and how he should get it back on track. The only thing he could come up with was, “I don’t like him.”
Carlo laughed. “No?”
He sounded truly amused, and this truly annoyed Garrett, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He let Carlo serve the pasta while he mulled over his options.
“You’re eating. I’m flattered.”
The words snapped him out of his own head. He looked down at his half-eaten food.
“You served food. I was hungry. What did you expect me to do?”
“It’s not up to your usual standards.”
“Why do you put down your own cooking like that?”
“You’ve just been extra…finicky lately.”
Yeah, “finicky.” That was a nice way to put it. He knew what Carlo was getting at, but he wasn’t here to discuss his own growing list of idiosyncrasies.
“You’re a good cook, Carlo.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “You know I’d eat anything you offered me.”
His voice came out lower and huskier than he intended. Shit. Had he just loaded that last sentence with innuendo? The slow flush that crawled up Carlo’s cheekbones told him that yeah, yeah, he had. He waited for Carlo to make a joke, or change the subject, or tell him to go bugger himself. But Carlo just stared at him, face flushed and eyes dilated. After way too long, he dropped his gaze back to his own plate and resumed eating without saying another word.
Well.
You could seduce him away.
What if he really could?
And wouldn’t
that
be a brilliant move. He was bound to muck the whole thing up.
I would never treat you like that
. His own words from earlier bounced around in his head, feeding a growing compulsion to do something, anything, to make sure Carlo was safe, happy. Yeah, Garrett knew he was complete ass and sucked at relationships, but at least he cared about Carlo. At least he would
try
to keep from hurting him. And it wasn’t as though they didn’t have a track record. Hell, they were already in a relationship. They had done everything
but
screw. How hard could it be to add that one extra dimension?