Page 12 of The Lineman

I chuckled. “If the Armani fits . . .”

He hefted his Coke bottle in salute. “Oh, I’m the basketball coach, too. You get assigned a sponsorship yet?”

I shook my head. “No, I think they’re still trying to figure me out.”

He took another bite of his sub and thought a moment, before leaning forward and whispering, “You should find something and propose it; otherwise, they’ll choose for you, and that doesn’t always work out so well, ya know?”

I did know. At my last school, I watched a mousy young thing get assigned to coach wrestling. He’d never wrestled in his life. I doubted he knew what the mats were for. Needless to say, our team didn’t make it to State. We barely made it to our meets.

And the poor teacher? He suffered the indignity of a parent revolt. That was the last thing I wanted.

“Good call,” I said. “Open to ideas.”

“Lemme think about it,” he said. “I got your back,ragazzo.”

“Ragazzo?” I quirked a brow.

“Sorry. I slip into Italian sometimes. It means—well, it is like saying ‘dude’ in American.”

Dude? I couldn’t remember the last time anyone called me that. Still, out of the mouth of an honest-to-risotto Italian, it sounded nice.Ragazzocertainly sounded sexier than our version.

We chatted as we ate, and I quickly realized Mateo was awesome. He was charming, quick-witted, and just the right amount of sarcastic.

And definitely gay.

Which he confirmed about five minutes later when he leaned in and whispered, “By the way, don’t worry. I’m not hitting on you.”

I blinked. “Uh, okay?”

He smirked. “I’m just saying, I can see the panic behind your eyes. I know that look. It’s the ‘Oh God, is the coach flirting with me?’ look.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then muttered, “That obvious?”

He chuckled. “To me? Yeah.”

“So you’re gay?”

“Oh, honey,” he said, patting my arm. Despite his effeminate words, they came out overly masculine. It felt like glitter-covered verbal whiplash. “So,sogay.”

I relaxed immediately.

“Good to know,” I said. “Because honestly, if you were flirting, I wouldn’t have survived it. I’m at my embarrassment limit for the day.”

“I promise, no flirting.” Mateo grinned. “But, I’m definitely still going to tease you.”

“Lovely. Get it line.”

“It’s good to be a Mustang!” he said, winking.

Chapter five

Elliot

Beingalinemanwaslike being a firefighter—except no one clapped when you restored power.

Most people didn’t think about the hundreds of miles of wires, transformers, and poles crisscrossing their neighborhoods until something went wrong. Then, suddenly, we were heroes—or villains, depending on how long the power stayed out.

Sadly, most never knew our names or what we did. So, did that make us heroes? Or were we merely background players doing a job no one else wanted to do?

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