Page 170 of Offside Angle

“Your face is smug.”

“Also true.”

I tug him toward me by our joined hands before he can enjoy himself any more than he already is, cup his cheek with my free hand, and kiss him right there between the tables.

Santi laughs softly against my mouth before kissing me back, and when I pull away I stay close enough that I can still feel his breath against my lips.

“I love you, Santiago.”

That wipes the smirk right off his face.

For once, I get to watch him lose whatever clever answer he had ready, and the way his expression opens makes my chest tighten hard enough that I immediately feel the need to defend myself from the emotional situation I have apparently created.

“And before you start,” I add, “this is not because I suddenly discovered public affection.”

A quiet laugh leaves him. “I know, cariño.”

“Good.”

His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles. “I just liked that you forgot to think.”

I stare at him. “That sounds insulting.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His smile softens, and when he says, “I love you too, Matteo,” every stupid response I had prepared disappears.

I knew.

Of course I knew. I’ve known in all the little ways that mattered long before either of us said it out loud, but hearing the words still hits harder than I expect, tightening my throat enough that I grab for the first joke available. “Took you long enough.”

“I was waiting for you to catch up.”

“Dick.”

“You love me.”

I squeeze his hand tighter. “Unfortunately.”

“Tragic.”

We finally make it to the table without letting go, and as we sit down, Santi glances once at our hands where they’re still linked between us.

“Don’t.”

His eyes lift innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to ask what you want to eat.”

“Liar.”

The grin he gives me says I’m right.

I don’t let go.