Page 83 of The Lineman

Mateo listened, nodding along, his expression unreadable. When I finally finished, he let out a long whistle.

“Damn,” he said. “You’ve got it bad.”

I groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, you sound like a guy who’s already in pretty deep.” He leaned back on his elbows. “So . . . what’s the problem,amico mio?”

“The problem?” I said, picking at my food, again forgetting that the goal was to get it into my mouth. “The problem is that I don’t know if this is anything. We haven’t talked about what we are, and I don’t want to be the idiot who assumes more than what’s actually there.”

Mateo hummed, considering. “Sounds like you already know it’s something. You’re just scared to admit it.”

“Not helping.” I scowled. “Besides, we’ve been on what? Three or four dates? What kind of idiot starts to fall that fast? I know better. Hell, I help students learn to take things a lot slower than this.”

“You what? Really? And they listen?”

I grunted a laugh. “No, not much, but I try.”

He grinned. “Okay, okay. Look, I get it. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself. You’ve done that before, and it didn’t end well. But—” He nudged my arm. “Elliot’s not your ex or anyone you’ve ever dated before. He’s not those other guys. He doesn’t deserve their baggage. Besides, if you’re really this messed up over him being gone for a few weeks, maybe that’s worth paying attention to.”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. I knew he was right. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

Mateo clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Look, if he’s the right guy for you, you’ll figure it out. And if he’s not, well . . . I’ll be here to say, ‘I told you so.’”

“Of course you will.” I snorted. “You’re all heart.”

“Damn right.” He grinned, then gestured to my food. “Now hurry up and eat before I steal your lunch.”

I rolled my eyes but dug back in. Even with the weight of uncertainty sitting heavy in my chest, talking to Mateo helped.

Then my phone chimed.

We both stared down at the screen, neither of us moving, like it was a cobra coiled and ready to strike.

“Uh, Mike, that’s a text from Elliot.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. I can see that.”

Mateo cocked his head. “Are you going to look at it or wait for Martians to invade and read it to you?”

“Martians?” I blinked a few times.

He shrugged. “Best I could do in the moment. Read your damned text before I do.”

“You don’t know my—”

“Four, three, six, eight.”

“You little thief!” My jaw dropped. “You were one of those guys on the Italian Job, weren’t you? Like, in real life and shit.”

He snorted again. “Definitely and shit. Now, read yourfuckingtext.”

“Fucking” came out like some sultry word I expected on the I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter commercial, all oily and oozy and so, so tasty.

“Fine.” I snatched my phone a heartbeat before his hand landed on the empty bleacher.

Pole Dude: Hey. We’re taking a break. It’s a complete shit show down here. Looks like a war zone. Wish you were here. Not really. Wish I was there . . . with you.

“Stop swooning and show me,” Mateo barked.

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