He beckons me back over to his side with a finger, and when I lean his way, he kisses me again. Short and sweet, but right on the lips.
“Peterson, you’re going to spoil me with all this kissing.”
And how does he reply? By doing it again. My heart ramps up again from his touch, and the smile on my face could rival the fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“I mean, if that’s all it takes,” he says. “You’re an easy date.”
I drive off and am barely at the end of his block when Harry takes my hand and holds it on top of the center console. I suppose after the night in the hotel, kissing and holding hands might be considered a step backward, but I couldn’t be happier about it.
When we walk into Rudy’s, the look on Harry’s face is a mix of curiosity and slight hesitation. The restaurant is small, almost snug in its tightness, with only a handfulof tables scattered across the space. Each one is tucked into the corners, giving the place an intimate, almost homey feel. The walls are painted in soft, warm tones, and old wooden beams run across the ceiling, adding character to the building. The smell of Italian food lingers in the air, comforting and inviting.
From the outside, it’s almost indistinguishable from one of the houses in the neighborhood, with its simple, unassuming facade—just a small sign hanging above the door that reads “Rudy’s” in faded letters. The windows are small and framed with delicate curtains, offering a glimpse inside but not enough to reveal its full charm. It’s the kind of spot you might walk right by if you didn’t know it was there, but once you step inside, it’s clear that Rudy’s is a hidden gem, a place where the noise of the world fades and you’re enveloped in the warmth of good food and quiet conversation.
“Coach! Coach!” It’s Rudy, who somehow hosts, waits on all the tables, and runs the kitchen.
He hugs me, and I’m surrounded by the sweet smell of cooked onions and garlic.
“How are the Sharks? Making lots of waves?”
“We actually made the finals. We’re headed to Hartford next weekend.”
“Congratulations! Those kids are lucky to have you. And who is this?” Rudy raises an eyebrow and extends his hand to Harry.
“I’m Harry Peterson. I teach English at Crossroads with Darius.”
Rudy cocks his head, studying Harry, then his eyes move to me, a glint of recognition flickering in them. Iplayed hockey with his son, Marco, throughout undergrad, and he knows I’m gay. Marco and I shared an apartment during our senior year. He had a girlfriend, and I was with Doug. And while I’m not sure if Marco ever said anything directly, I’m sure his father must have caught on. Rudy’s gaze lingers, but there’s no judgment, just an understanding that doesn’t need words.
Rudy seats us at the best table—the one closest to the kitchen—and heads off to another table. It’s tucked away in a corner, and even though two other couples are here, it feels like we have the whole place to ourselves.
“I’m not sure if you like chicken parm, but seriously, Rudy’s will change your life.”
“Transformative chicken Parmesan. I’m intrigued.”
I don’t want to push Harry too hard, but the need to apologize hovers over me like a ghost.
“Look, about all the stuff I said,” I start, my voice careful. “The way I treated you. Harry, I meant it when I said I was sorry. But . . . if I’m honest . . .that guy? The one who said all that crap? That was me. It’s just—” I hesitate, thinking it over. “I guess I didn’t know how else to get your attention. But I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”
Harry looks up from his plate, his gaze deadpan. “You mean the one with his dick down my throat?”
I almost choke on the fresh bread Rudy placed on the table. I swallow hard, twice, just to make sure I’m not going to embarrass myself. I wasn’t expecting that. From him. But the way he said it—so casual, so matter-of-fact—it surprised me. He didn’t flinch or back away. Justtossed it out there like it was no big deal to say it in the middle of Rudy’s.
I wipe my mouth, trying to recover. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I do want to be that guy. I mean the one with his . . . The one I was in the hotel room. Not before.”
He’s got me all flustered. My thoughts jumble, and I can hardly focus. It’s as if he has this incredible power over me that leaves me breathless and anxious, struggling to find my words. Every little interaction sends my heart racing and makes me second-guess myself. It’s both exciting and overwhelming.
We sit for a moment, the silence uncomfortable now. Thankfully, Rudy comes with his little notepad and pen to take our order.
With a quick nod, Harry orders first. “I’ll take the chicken Parmesan. I’ve heard it’s spectacular.” He winks at me, and my stomach does a flip. “And can I get a little side salad?”
“Of course,” Rudy replies. “All our meals come with bread, salad, and a side of pasta. Would you like spaghetti, linguini, or fusilli?”
“Oh, I’ll have the linguini.”
“Perfect. And for you, Coach?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Amazing. Would you like some wine?”
