Surviving Mateo (Morelli Family 2)

“The bed’s kind of far,” I point out, helping him get my shirt over my head.

—

I’m craving kung pao chicken like my life legitimately depends on eating it.

With rice. And an egg roll. Oh, my god.

I don’t know if Adrian is still giving me rides, since Mateo didn’t specify when his last day actually is, so I text Mateo to ask who is responsible for shuttling me around today.

Last stretch of employment or not, Adrian is the one who shows up to escort me.

I’m picky about my Chinese, though. Disappointing Chinese food is one of life’s great tragedies, so I make Adrian drive me all the way into the city instead of stopping at the place up the road.

“Does Mateo like doughnuts?” I ask as we head to the entrance of the restaurant. “I’m gonna order some of the doughnuts. They’re basic, but so delicious.”

“Mateo doesn’t like sweets,” Adrian informs me.

“They’re not that sweet though. And he likes ice cream.”

“Only when he’s in the mood for it.”

I shouldn’t be so easily amused, but now all I can envision is Mateo and Adrian spooning in the sitting room, eating midnight ice cream.

“When’s your last day?” I ask him.

Appearing somewhat startled, he says, “What?”

“Mateo told me you’re leaving.”

Seeming uncomfortable, he tells me, “I’ll be at family dinner this Sunday, then I won’t be anymore.”

“It seemed like you were part of the family. I can’t imagine you not being around. Will you ever stop by to visit?”

As if I’ve asked something utterly ridiculous, he shakes his head. “No.”

“So, Sunday’s goodbye?” I don’t try to hide my disappointment. He should know he’ll be missed.

“I’m not part of the Morelli family,” he states. “I never was, I never will be.”

“I disagree,” I tell him, letting him open the door for me.

“Well, it won’t be the first or last time you’re wrong,” he mutters.

“I thought you and Mateo were friends.”

“No. Not friends.”

I think he’s being obstinate, but I don’t bother arguing as I head for the line to place my order. I didn’t consider that it’s lunch time, and they have a lunch special, so the place is crawling with people. It takes forever to get up to the register just to place the order, and then they tell us it’ll be a fifteen-minute wait anyway.

Adrian is displeased.

“I understand your time is valuable, but I might’ve died without kung pao chicken,” I explain to him reasonably.

“Better chance you’ll die with it,” he says, raking an unimpressed look around the little hole in the wall restaurant.

“At least I’ll die happy.”

A few more minutes tick by, then Adrian catches the server’s attention. “You got a bathroom in here?”

Nodding, she indicates a long hall at the back of the restaurant, lit by a garish, flickering light.

“Great,” he mutters, glancing back at me. “I’ll be back.”

Adrian’s barely down the hall when a guy behind me leans in and murmurs, “Your boyfriend’s impatient.”

I glance back in surprise. There are too many people in the restaurant—we’re three deep in a line right now, jam packed like a tin of sardines. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really?” he asks, stepping up beside me.

Recognizing his interest, I add, “That came out wrong. He’s not my boyfriend, but I do have one.”

“Too bad for me,” he says with a charming smile.

I take another look at him, lightly rolling my eyes, but with a tolerant smile. He’s pretty attractive, I won’t lie. He’s no Mateo Morelli, but if I’d met him before, I’d probably be a little more interested. Tall and lean with a sculpted face, somehow smooth and hard-edged at the same time. He has piercing gray eyes, and a smirk that just tells you he’s gotta be an asshole.

I’m also pretty sure he spent more time fixing his short, dark hair this morning than I spent on mine.

That reminds me that my hair is legitimately pulled up into a messy bun on top of my head, and he should not be hoping I’m single.

“You should get the doughnuts,” he tells me, nodding toward the registers. “They’re really good.”

I glance at him again. “I did, actually.”

“Good taste,” he says, offering a little wink.

Laughing a little, I say, “Okay.”

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Nothing.” I shake my head slowly, glancing at the hallway Adrian disappeared down.

“Does your boyfriend know you’re getting lunch with some other guy?”

“Why are you so interested in my boyfriend?” I return, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” he says, smoothly letting his eyes drop down my body, letting me watch him do it. “I’m interested in you, and I think you’re making the boyfriend up.”

“Trust me, the boyfriend’s real.”

“Been with him long? Maybe you should dump him.”

I snort, wishing I could tell this ass who my boyfriend actually is. “No, thanks.”

“Just saying,” he says, hands in his pockets as he shrugs. “You could trade up.”

“Trust me, I can’t,” I tell him, amused.