Page 11 of Two for Charging

“That is carbonara,” Luca said.

Breezy beamed. “I know, right?”

“No, I mean, you’ve recreated a proper carbonara.”

“It is super close to my mom’s! But don’t tell her. She would worry about the eggs being too raw.”

Luca gave up. Breezy was smiling and happy. Authentic Italian cuisine didn’t matter in comparison.

If his siblings could hear him now, the mockery would never end.

They ate their dinner in companionable silence, sharing a plate stacked high with salad leaves, tomatoes, and cucumber slices between them. Luca finished well before Breezy, which was no surprise. The portion size it took to keep a man as big as him on his feet never failed to astonish.

Luca wished he could be underneath him, to have all that strength and size pushing him down. Breezy would be nice about it, he was sure—he didn’t know how to be anything but nice—but maybe if Luca were annoying enough, Breezy would grab him by the wrists and press him into the nearest flat surface and—

He clamped down on the thought viciously.

Having feelings for a teammate was bad enough. He didn’t have to lust after him so intensely it verified every nasty thing Hayes and Vanderbilt thought about him.

After they finished, Luca cleared away the plates. Breezy tried to help, but Luca glared him into submission. “Think of it as the beginning of my making it worth your while to let me live here.”

“I don’t let you live here. I want you here. I like living with you.”

Luca swallowed around nothing and forced himself to stare into the dishwasher. The alternative was crawling onto Breezy’s lap, which he would never live down. He didn’t answer, what could he possibly say? I love living here. Please let me stay forever? If you want, I will happily pay rent in blowjobs and cuddles?

He took the time spent scrubbing the pasta pot to get himself under control.

“I got you something,” Luca finally said, when he could be sure he wouldn’t sound like a sexual predator.

Breezy perked up and set down his phone, which he’d been scrolling through idly. “A present? For me?”

“Nothing big,” Luca warned. “Call it a household contribution.”

“I thought that was doing the dishes.”

“I did them because you cooked.”

“I always cook.”

“Then I will always do the dishes.”

“You don’t have to—”

This man. Luca was going to kiss him. Or strangle him. “Will you just let me do something?”

Breezy subsided. “All right. What did you get me?”

Luca shut off the water, set the pot on the drying rack, and dried off his hands. He debated explaining himself, but decided there was no way he could without giving away how much he wanted to make Breezy feel so good that he’d never again date a blonde girl with vaguely Italian heritage.

Instead, he ducked into the bathroom for the tub of arnica gel he’d received in the mail last week.

“I, uh…” He showed Breezy the gel in its cardboard packaging with flowy cursive Italian script. “I figured you would be as sore as I am. Lie on the couch. I’ll rub you down.”

Breezy’s eyes went round and wide. “Did you bring that from Rome?”

“Yes.” Luca lied to avoid admitting he had asked his mother to send it to him and wired her twenty Euros for the postage. He knew, in the privacy of his own mind, how ridiculous it was to purchase an item in Italy that was available in any pharmacy in the States. But seeing those big eyes shining with excitement at unpacking an Italian product made any number of indignities worthwhile.

“Luca, you’re the best roommate. How do you want me?”