“I think he’s running out of ways to explain not starting me.”
“Twenty-five minutes on Tuesday and you turned their fullback inside out.”
“And the cross for the second goal came off my foot.” I tear more bread. “I’m not angry. He had his plan and the plan won the group. But the football starts counting differently. I want it. I’ve wanted it since I was six years old. I’m not going to pretend otherwise just to sound professional.”
“You? Pretend?” He points his fork at me. “You told the kit man his beard was a crime.”
“His beard is a crime. I said it with love.”
“Gallo says some English club is asking about you again,” he says. “He heard it from your agent. Your agent has a big mouth.”
“My agent has a beautiful mouth. It’s how he gets paid.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“They ask every summer. Every summer the answer is the same.” I mop sauce with the bread. “In Naples my mother can walk to the stadium. My father closes the restaurant when we play and opens it after, so the entire street can come argue about my first touch over dinner. You want me to trade that for wet-sock weather and a bigger number in an account I never look at?”
“Most people would.”
“Most people are from somewhere they can leave.”
He shakes his head slowly, as if he’s heard this before and enjoys it anyway. “One day somebody is going to offer you the moon, Enzo.”
“The moon is a rock. I have Naples.”
He refills our glasses, and there’s a wind-up in how he does it. A brief ceremony that I know is going somewhere, so I wait. I’ve known him since we were seventeen and terrible. He gets to the point the way he defends. Eventually, and all at once.
“My friend Theo asked about you,” he says.
“Which one is Theo?”
“Tall. Brown hair. You met him outside the tunnel after the second match, for about eleven seconds. He asked if you drink coffee.”
“Everyone drinks coffee.”
“He asked if you drink coffee with strangers. He also said your eyes were unfair, which I did not repeat at the time because your ego is already a public safety concern.”
“My eyes are normal.”
“Your eyes are Naples storefront-blue and you know it. Drink your wine.”
I take my time with the wine. Davide has known I’m gay since we were nineteen, and in the years between then and this table it has never once been bigger between us than this.
“Tell him thank you,” I say. “And tell him no.”
“He’s a good guy, Enzo.”
“I believe you. It’s not about him.”
“Then what?”
“If a man wants to have coffee with me, we have it outside. At a table, at noon, in the sun, where his mother could walk past and wave. Wheremymother could walk past. That’s the coffee I drink now. Tournament coffee is a different drink. Tournament coffee is a number saved under a fake name, a room with the curtains shut, and a delete button in August. I know that recipe. I’m not making it again.”
He’s quiet for a second, eyes narrowed on me. “That’s very specific.”
“I’m a specific man.”
“And if Theo is fine with the sun?”
