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So much for defusing the situation.
“They must trust you if your first day is a weekend.”
“That, or they’re desperate.” Nico flicked on the bathroom light. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Luke gaped at him, and Nico winked. “For you to use the bathroom,” he clarified. “Since you’re, you know, up.”
Luke glanced down; the thin sheet hid nothing. He shifted, giving a good-humored laugh that didn’t make Nico like him more. Nope, not one bit . . .
He escaped into the bathroom and hit the shower. Water sluiced over his taut skin, and Nico sagged back against the wall.
Not one itty bit.
Fuuuuuck.
Elisa: Elliott’s family invited everyone to dinner in Philly next weekend.
Nico: I hope no one thinks they’re staying with me.
Elisa: Doofus. No, but can you help find a hotel for them?
Nico: Elliott did this. Have him find the hotel. He knows the city better than I do.
“Thank you. Come see us again.” Nico handed the bag to the customer and moved away from the register.
It had taken five minutes to figure out what Esposito’s had for sale and where to find things. Vito, an employee who must have been with them since Guido Esposito opened the shop a hundred years ago, ran the register.
Business had been steady, heavy even, leaving no time to consider what to do about Luke. He tried to sort it out on the walk to the market, but that left him more confused than settled. The mild flirting, the little touches, making out when buzzed, those pointed toward Luke liking Nico. Countering that was Kent.
In Nico’s book, the guy sucked big time. Pig slut was too nice an insult. Luke, however, still saw the good times. The moments when Kent had come through for him, even when he had his own problems. He knew from experience those things were hard for the heart to forget.
And Luke hadn’t. Not even close.
Outwardly, Luke showed anger toward his ex, but as soon as a text from Kent arrived, he rushed to answer. Nico couldn’t compete with that. No one could.
And even if Nico could . . . would Luke still like the other him? The colorful him who loved the flair for the dramatic. Who missed his designer clothes—blazers, scarfs, and shoes—God, his shoes.
He’d trusted that Tomas liked him. The first guy in forever he actually thought dug him for him, and look how that had turned out.
Why should he expect things to turn out differently with Luke?
Nico pinched his nose. He should stop this wildly-out-of-control crush on Luke. He was afraid the next nice thing Luke did, the next kind thing he said, Nico would do something stupid.
“Hey, kid.”
Nico plastered on his fake smile and turned toward the older man. “Whatcha need, Vito?”
“Nothing, kid.” He smiled like he was Zio Vito. “I just wanted to say I’m impressed. You’re pretty good at selling.”
“I’ve worked at my family’s bakery since I was twelve. Nonno was an amazing teacher.”
“Your family owns a bakery? Which one? Does Rocco know?”
Nico admired the loyalty. “Rocco knows. That’s why he hired me. I already know the goods.”
Vito rubbed his chin as if he couldn’t wrap his head around what he’d heard. “You do know what we’re selling.”
Better than Vito, if he had to guess. Nico could make anything in the display case. Had made everything at one time or another. “Thanks. Nonno and Papà taught me everything they know.”
“What bakery?”
“Amato’s in New York.”
“Never heard of ’em. Are you guys any good?”
He wanted to say they were the third-biggest Italian bakery in the country, but it probably wouldn’t go over well. Vito was loyal, and Nico might have to work with him again. “Not bad. But not as good as Esposito’s.”
Vito gave him the horns. “You’re a smooth talker. And you’re doing so well, you don’t need me up there. Let’s me rest my legs.”
A customer walked up, saving Nico from responding. He was fine with handling all the customers, even if he was earning half of Vito’s paycheck for him. It gave him an outlet to avoid thinking about Luke.
Reality, however, was going to come crashing back in about fifteen minutes when his shift ended.
He flicked open the bag, put two sweet rolls inside, and decided he’d deal with Luke when it was time. Not a minute before.
Luke
Coury: You did what?
Luke: It’s complicated.
Coury: That’s one word for it.
Luke: You’re not helping.
Luke had held Nico last night. Maybe most of the night.
He didn’t remember how it happened, hadn’t meant for it to happen. But. There had been that dream. That very sexy dream. Where Nico had rolled atop him, had kissed him hard, had whispered in Luke’s ear as he’d groped Luke’s dick and—
Luke scrubbed his flushed face.
Nico was kind to call him a gentleman, because the things they did in that dream were far from gentlemanly.
