Page 108 of Forget Me

29

MATEO

ONE HOUR EARLIER

I hadeverything a single guy needed on Valentine’s Day: a beer in my hand, a six-pack in the fridge, and a second six-pack behind that. Plus football on a giant TV. No, it wasn’t football season, not even American football season, but although Miguelito never watched anything but the financial news, he had an amazing cable television package. The MLS channel was replaying a marathon of last year’s World Cup matches.

And I had the best buddy ever, even if he had to hide under a blanket. I ripped a tiny triangle off a strip of beef jerky and fed it to Roger, who purred contentedly under the cashmere throw blanket on the sectional in Miguelito’s TV room. Then I tossed a larger piece to Coco, lying on the floor at my feet.

The tapping of dress shoes across the tile gave me plenty of time to cover Roger with the blanket before Ben walked in.

“Hey, Mateo, can you help me with my tie? I still haven’t got the knack.”

I set down my beer and walked around the sofa to stand in front of him. He had a fresh glow to him even more gorgeous than the satin-trimmed, tailored tuxedo. I wiped my jerky fingers on my sweatpants so I wouldn’t spoil the glossy tie.

“Boss?”

“No.” He sighed in ecstasy, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. “Freaking Tom Ford. Look at the cuffs.” He held up one forearm to show off the satin cuff and covered buttons.

I whistled. “He must really love you.”

“I know, right?”

A smile cracked my face. Was I jealous that my cousin had snagged the love of his life while my heart was shattered? Absolutely. Still, I couldn’t be mad in the face of Ben’s incandescent happiness.

“Lito couldn’t tie this?” I straightened the ends and let muscle memory take over. My father had liked to wear bow ties to Mass on Sundays.

“He tried”—Ben’s neck flushed under his collar in a shade that reminded me too much of his sister’s skin—“but he kept, um, getting distracted. That’s why we’re running late. He’s taking a shower now.”

I forced a chuckle.

Always too perceptive, Ben asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

“What?” I drew the bow tight. “Of course. I’ve got beer and football. I’ll order a pizza later. Life is good.”

“Mateo.” Ben laid a hand on my T-shirt, right over the gaping hole in my chest. “I’m sorry you and Mimi didn’t work out. I was pulling for you.”

“Might as well pull for San Marino,” I muttered, straightening his tie.

“I’m not into the sportsball. What’s San Marino?”

“San Marino?” Miguelito walked in, his own tie dangling around his neck. “Only the worst European football club ever. You don’t want to see a game there, do you?”

“Where even is—never mind. Mateo was comparing himself to them, and I knew I didn’t like it.” He exchanged a look with his fiancé.

“I meant what I said the other day,” he said gruffly. “You’re my primo, and I love you. I value you. You’re good enough.”

I needed those words. I soaked them in through my skin like vitamin D in sunlight. They pooled in my belly, warming me from the inside.

“Oh, Mateo,” Ben said. “Of course you’re good enough. Mimi might be my sister, but she’s a fool if she doesn’t see it.”

My sinuses prickled. I hooked Ben with my right arm and Lito with my left and hauled them in for a crushing hug. I sniffed back my tears, not wanting to let them land on their tuxedo jackets. “Thank you,” I whispered through my constricted throat.

Ben hugged me tight while Lito gave me a few awkward back-pats.

“We both love you, Mateo,” Ben mumbled against my shoulder.

“But.” Miguelito gently disentangled himself from my hug and tugged Ben to his side. “I can’t condone this wallowing you’re doing.” He waved at my faded, frayed T-shirt and droopy sweatpants. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

---