Page 85 of The Puck Contract

Mateo accepts the handshake, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "A few months."

Julian's eyebrow arches slightly. "Interesting timing."

The comment lands like an ice bath. I feel Mateo stiffen beside me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, voice dropping dangerously low.

Julian raises his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing, nothing. Just noting the coincidence. Sponsors love stability, after all." He turns to Mateo. "So what do you do, Mateo?"

"I'm finishing my anthropology degree," Mateo replies, subtly shifting closer to me, his shoulder pressing against mine. "Specializing in urban spatial semiotics and community identities."

Julian blinks. "That's... specific."

"It is," Mateo agrees pleasantly, though I can feel the tension radiating from him. "What about you? Besides touching other people's boyfriends, I mean."

I choke on my champagne. Julian's eyes narrow, his perfect smile freezing in place.

"Mateo's joking," I interject, setting my glass down before I spill it. "He has a unique sense of humor."

"Hilarious," Julian says flatly. "I develop fitness applications and do some modeling. Ansel and I were quite serious before my trade to Seattle complicated things."

"Were you?" Mateo asks with exaggerated interest. "He's never mentioned you."

Before Julian can respond, Becker materializes at my side like a foul-mouthed guardian angel.

"Grooves! There you are. Coach is looking for you. Team photo in five." He glances at Julian, recognition flashing across his face. "Martinez. Didn't know you were in town."

"Just passing through," Julian replies smoothly. "Reconnecting with old friends."

"Uh-huh." Becker's tone could freeze vodka. "Well, sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we need to borrow Groover and Mateo."

"Of course," Julian says, producing another business card which he presses into my hand. "Call me while I'm in town, Ansel. Catch up properly."

He saunters away, leaving a cloud of expensive cologne and awkwardness in his wake.

"Jesus Christ," Becker mutters. "That guy still has the personality of a designer toaster. Looks good, does one thing, costs way too much."

Mateo snorts, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Is Coach really looking for us?"

"Nah," Becker admits. "But you two looked like you needed an escape rope, and I'm a charitable man." He claps me on the shoulder. "The phrase you're looking for is 'thank you, Riley.'"

"Thank you, Riley," I echo, genuinely grateful. "We owe you one."

"I expect payment in the form of embarrassing stories about Martinez later," he says before disappearing back into the crowd.

When he's gone, I turn to Mateo, who's staring after Julian with an expression I can't quite read. "Sorry about that. I had no idea he'd be here."

"No kidding," Mateo says, downing the rest of his champagne in one go. "Quite serious, huh?"

I wince at the edge in his voice. "That was Julian's version of events. We dated for a few months. It wasn't that deep."

"Could have fooled me, with the way he was marking his territory." Mateo's jaw tightens. "Does he always touch you like that?"

"Are you jealous?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

"Should I not be?" he counters, eyes finally meeting mine. "When your ridiculously attractive ex-boyfriend shows up and starts feeling up your arms while implying our relationship is conveniently timed PR?"

The hurt beneath his bristling anger is so transparent it makes my chest ache. I glance around the crowded ballroom before taking his elbow and guiding him toward a quieter corner.

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