by Eli Easton
“Holy shit,” I breathed. Mack “the Mountain” McDonall being gay was something I had a hard time wrapping my brain around. This definitely put a whole different spin on the fantasy, gave it a painful, hopeful edge. Maybe Mack was actually… within reach? Assuming I wanted to go there.
Did I want to go there? Nah! Right? Me and a wrestling star jock? Ha!
But the important parts of my anatomy chimed in with Are you fucking nuts? Of course we’re interested. Look at the guy!
“Hey,” Jordan said. “You’re not here to solve world peace, so chill. It’s just dinner. Doesn’t have to mean anything. Just think of it as a chance for you guys to meet. If it clicks, cool. If not, no one said it was a date. And you’re welcome.”
I had to admit, it was a pretty awesome thing for Jordan to do. Assuming it didn’t end in me being humiliated.
“Thank you,” I said. But my mouth was dry and a wave of nerves assaulted me. It didn’t feel like no big deal. Not at all.
Jordan smiled, but then a look of unease crossed his face like he was about to say something.
“What?” I demanded.
“Never mind. I think you guys should both form your own opinions.”
What the hell did that mean? But Jordan was already going out the door.
Back in the kitchen, there was a tense awkwardness in the room. Owen was staring into a cupboard of glasses. Mack had finished chopping carrots, and he was placing them in the bowl a few slices at a time, as if trying to drag out the task.
It was weird to see a guy like Mack cutting up vegetables. I wouldn’t have expected him to be at all domestic.
“So who wants what to drink?” Jordan asked in a chipper voice. “We’ve got hard cider and beer.” He went over to Owen and slung an arm around his shoulders. “You gonna have one beer tonight, babe?”
Owen smiled at Jordan and nuzzled his cheek. “Maybe just one.” He looked over at Mack. “What do you think? One beer?”
Mack shook his head. “Nah, not for me. I brought a smoothie.”
He’d brought a smoothie? Now that was dedication. But it had to suck to be such a hard-core athlete that you couldn’t indulge a little on Friday night.
“But you go ahead, Owen,” Mack said, his eyes sparkling. “I’m sure it won’t hurt your ranking. Much.”
“Ass,” Owen said. “No, you’re right. It’s less than a week to the Philly meet, and we’ve got a training session tomorrow. I’ll skip it.”
Jordan looked a little disappointed, but he quickly hid it. “Okay. I made some fresh green juice this afternoon if you guys want that.”
Mack looked at Jordan in surprise. “Really? That’d be great. My juicer is on the fritz. Royal pain in the ass.”
Jordan gave him a real smile. “Sure. Owen’s folks got us a Breville for Christmas last year. It’s da bomb.”
He went to the fridge and pulled out a large pitcher. He poured two glasses of stuff that looked like liquid grass. “Want some green juice, Gabe?”
I rubbed my throat and tried not to gag. “Huh-uh. I like my skin tone in the non-Hulk range. Thanks.”
Jordan laughed and put the pitcher away. Then I realized what I’d just said. Did Mack think I’d been taking a jab at his size? I glanced at him, but he was sipping his juice and staring out the window, face blank.
I must have been over my initial shock at the situation, because it struck me that I was looking at the Mountain, in the flesh and only a few feet away. I took a moment to really take it in. He seemed so different in normal clothes instead of a skin-tight wrestling singlet. He wore blue jeans in some extra-tall size and a loose hunter green thermal shirt pushed up around his elbows. The shirt didn’t hide his massive shoulders, biceps, and chest, but still. He looked less like the brute he portrayed on the wrestling floor. His large face was still definitely on the rough side, but it was softened by a relaxed expression. His dark eyes were wary but, when he dared glance at me, intelligent. If it wasn’t for his height, he could pass as an ordinary college student.
He still rang my bell. I wanted to know the guy, even more so in this version than the one I’d seen at the wrestling match.
I forced myself to stop staring and turned to Jordan. “Need help with anything?”
Jordan gave me a relieved look. “Mack was just getting the salad ready. You guys can finish that up. There’s lettuce in the fridge. I’ve got a lasagna in the oven that’ll be done in a few minutes. It’s Amy’s, so it’s fairly healthy.”
“Want me to make some garlic bread?” I suggested. I was no cook, but having lived in a dorm for four years, I’d figured out the basics.
“Um…” Jordan glanced at Mack. “I doubt the guys would eat that.”
Mack cleared his throat. “Not normally, but if Gabe makes it. I mean….” He turned an alarming shade of red. “Whatever you want. Either way.”
Dios. That huge guy was flustered over me. Jordan was right; Mack had to be gay. And he’d certainly figured out we were being set up. I almost felt sorry for him. Except I’d never been shy, and seeing Mack all jittery made me feel bolder.
I moved to the fridge, brushing past Mack so I could open the door. I felt his big, warm presence at my back. “It’s cool,” I said. “Minimal butter, right? I’ve got this. I’ll just have the bread look at the butter then run away. Jordan, do you have any garlic?”
“There’s some in the door. And use the multigrain bread and olive oil spread on the shelf.”
I grabbed the stuff from the fridge, including the lettuce, and swung the door shut with my hip. I handed Mack the lettuce with a breezy smile and placed the bread and butter on the counter.
“Healthy-ish garlic bread coming up. Seriously, I admire your dedication. It’s a good thing I don’t have to be in shape to be a journalist because I’d be toast. No pun intended.”
Mack’s blush had faded a bit, and he wore a studied casual expression as he unwrapped the lettuce. “It’s just—wrestling is my scholarship, you know? Gotta keep the funds flowing.”
“I hear you,” Jordan agreed. “I’m grateful every day for my art scholarship. Between that and Owen’s wrestling scholarship, we’re not hugely in debt, thank God. So many students have to sell their souls to get a damned degree.”
I said nothing. I was one of those soul-selling students. My deal with the ‘rents was that they paid for my tuition and I paid for everything else. I was the third kid, and my older sister was still in school too, so I was lucky they could contribute that much. I’d been working at least twenty hours a week since my first semester, but I’d still had to take out loans to cover everything.
Maybe thoughts of my debt made me feel a little reckless. But I decided, fuck it, I might as well make an impression and have some fun. I grabbed a few carrot slices from the chopping block.
“Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without my juggling scholarship.”
I juggled the three carrot slices in the air. Learning how to juggle was a party trick I’d learned in high school. Carrot slices were too light to be very effective, though, so I only did a couple passes.
Jordan laughed. “Impressive, Gabe! But those slices are going in your bowl.”
Instead, I tossed them up in the air one at a time and caught them in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed.
“Nice,” Owen said. “You should be our halftime show. Right, Mack?”
Mack stared at me with an amused little frown, like I was an idiot but maybe sort of a cute one? Fair enough. He glanced at my mouth, which made me think of kissing.
Was he thinking of kissing? He met my gaze, and I was locked there as surely as if he’d had me in some super-secret wrestling pose. Chills broke out on the back of my neck.
I almost fanned myself. I refrained.
“So. Hard cider, Gabe?” Jordan asked, holding out a bottle of Blake’s.
I blinked and took it. “Yeah, um, thanks.”
For the next ten minutes or so, Mack and I worked at the counter. The kitchen wasn’t t
hat big, especially not with Mack in it, so we stood side-by-side, eyeball to nipple level, while I made the garlic bread and he finished the salad. It should have felt relaxed, but just standing close to him made my blood sing and my toes curl in my Doc Marten boots.
Jordan had been right. Mack was very quiet. He had a reserve about him. I could tell he took himself seriously, and I liked that. If he’d been the kind of guy who’d ogled me and made crass innuendo, maybe I would have been put off. Even a great body can only go so far.
Admittedly, that body went a hell of a long way, but still.
Best of all, I got the impression Mack was attracted to me too. He seemed awkward as hell for one thing, like my presence made him nervous, like he didn’t know what to say to impress me.
“So… what kind of food do you like?” he asked. He rolled his eyes at himself like it was a stupid question.
I smiled. “My mom’s side of the family is from Mexico City, so I grew up on Mexican food. I love it, but it has to be authentic. I also like Cuban food. Korean. I guess I like anything that’s real. I hate big chains.”
Mack grunted. “I didn’t grow up with good food. Not really.” He swallowed nervously. “But I, uh, I like to find hole-in-the-wall places. Places where mama’s in the back making it from scratch.” He reddened again, like he’d said something dumb.
“Exactly! I wish I could cook like my mom. I can make a few things, but I’ll never be able to master her tortillas. They have to be tasted to be believed.” I groaned at the thought.
Jordan passed by and took my finished tray of garlic bread to put in the oven. He gave me an encouraging look.
Mack focused on wiping off his knife. “I love good tortillas. Can’t eat them in wrestling season, though. Too many carbs.”
“Really?” I leaned back against the counter and folded my arms. “Jordan mentioned you have to work to keep your weight down at, what is it, two eighty-five?” I fumbled for the number like I didn’t have it memorized. Like I hadn’t doodled it on my notepad a few times.
Mack scratched his neck self-consciously. “Yeah. We weigh in before every match. If I’m even a pound over, I’m disqualified.”
Owen chimed in. “You wouldn’t believe the crazy shit wrestlers do to get to weight, Gabe. There’s one guy on our team who’s always four or five pounds over, and he’ll spend the night before a match running up and down the steps at the hotel. All. Night. ‘Member last time we were in Chicago, Mack? He came in a 148 and three-quarters. A quarter pound from being disqualified.”
Mack nodded with a grimace. “I can’t cut it close like that. It would drive me fucking nuts.”
Owen agreed. “I know. I try to stay at least a pound under at all times.”
“Well, I have to watch my weight too,” I agreed airily. “My favorite jeans are very unforgiving. If I gain three pounds, the zipper tries to remove parts of me I prefer to keep intact.”
“Guess all you senior citizens will skip my special Christmas dessert then,” Jordan commented dryly.
“A special Christmas dessert? You’re scaring me, Jordan,” I teased. “You’ve been watching too much Suburban Housewives.”
“Nah. It’s just chia pudding with berries. Because Owen and Mack can have that. But it’s red so—Merry Christmas!” He grinned.
“Christmas.” I huffed. “It’s just another day. One I usually have to spend with relatives I don’t like.”
“Well, I love it,” Jordan said firmly. “Any excuse to celebrate with my baby.” Owen was hanging out by the sink, and Jordan stepped over and kissed him. The kiss wasn’t a short one either. They were chest to chest, and Owen wrapped his arms around Jordan’s back.
Damn. They were kind of sexy together.
Mack and I exchanged a look. I think it started out as a ‘can you believe these guys?’ look. But there was a hint of envy in Mack’s eyes, maybe even longing? And our gaze lingered a beat too long.
By the time we all sat down at the table, I was on my second hard cider and feeling no pain. In fact, I was tingly all over, and not all the light-headedness was from the alcohol.
Mack liked me. I was pretty sure. It shouldn’t have been so astonishing. Normally, I didn’t have trouble getting guys interested. My body was average in height and weight, but I was in decent shape. And I had a face most people called handsome or sometimes pretty. I had a bit of the Latin lover vibe, I guess, thanks to my Vasquez blood.
But Mack, he was so extraordinary. That he would actually be interested seemed like a miracle. Something might actually happen with Mack. Maybe even tonight? Maybe after dinner, I could offer to drive him home. The thought made me feel giddy. And horny too.
As we ate, Owen and Mack chatted about wrestling, about some of the guys on the Philly team and what they needed to do to make the NCAA championships. The vegetarian lasagna was healthier than usual, with zucchini and stuff inside, but it was good. I noticed that Mack ate a slice of my garlic bread.
“So what are you majoring in?” I asked Mack, when the sports conversation died down.
“Engineering,” Mack said.
“Oh yeah? Like… computer engineering?”
“No. Civil engineering. Waterworks. Dams. Bridges. Stuff like that.” His expression was solemn.
“Oh. That’s interesting.” I had no idea what was even involved in a subject like that. Concrete mixes? Chemistry? Math? Probably lots of math. Ugh.
“Gabe’s in journalism,” Jordan said helpfully. “How’s that big final project of yours going, Gabe? Was it for your investigative journalism class?”
I silently thanked Jordan for trying to make me sound impressive. “Yeah. I think I’m in luck.” I looked around the table at Owen and Mack. “See, I’m interning at the Wisconsin State Journal, and I finally got my first story assignment. I have to write about a charity dinner the Elks hold every Christmas for St Mark’s. They’re a children’s home.”
Owen looked politely interested. Mack narrowed his eyes.
“So anyway, I also need to write an investigative story for my class, and I think I’ve found an angle on this Christmas charity thing that might work for both.” Just saying it out loud, my excitement about the project reignited.
“Oh, that’s good,” Jordan said. “So what’s the angle?”
“So the Elks have a guy who plays Santa for the kids every year, right? Only no one knows who he is. He shows up in costume, leaves in costume… they have no idea what his name is.”
Jordan paused, cutting his last bit of lasagna. “Hmmm.” He clearly didn’t get it.
“I was thinking I could build it up into a mystery, maybe by writing a series instead of a single story. Then I’ll do a big reveal at the end.” I was on a roll now. “I mean, it’s strange, don’t you think? Guy comes into the place every year and interacts with all those kids and no one has the first clue who he is? What if he’s the mayor or the DA or something? Or a celebrity? There are a few from Madison. Or someone with a criminal record or a tragic past? I’d love to get an interview with this ‘mystery Santa’ as a capstone to the piece.”
I glanced around, practically thrumming with the idea. But the look on Mack’s face was not at all what I expected. His mouth was set in a grim line and there was a thundercloud of a frown on his forehead.
He carefully put down his fork and turned to me. “Why would you do that?”
“Um…. Do what?”
“Try to out some guy who obviously just wants to do his thing and be left alone?”
His tone was hostile. Which I totally didn’t get. “Out him? Well…” I stammered. “If he wants to play Santa at a charity dinner, why should he keep his identity a secret? It’s weird. I think so, anyway.” I sounded defensive, but he’d taken me by surprise.
“Huh. That’s cool, Gabe. Is anyone ready for dessert?” Jordan put in with forced exuberance. “Mack? Berries and chia pudding? I made it just for you guys.”
Mack was staring at me, and now he looked away with a slow blink a
nd lip curl of disgust. It might have been my imagination, but it felt like the snapping of a tenuous thread of connection between us. I felt sick to my stomach at the sudden chill, the finality of the severing.
“Thanks, Jordan, but I was planning to go to the gym tonight.” Mack patted his stomach and stood up. “I’m full. Any more and I’ll suffer on the treadmill.”
Damn. That had to be a whopper of a lie. I’d eaten more than Mack had, and I wasn’t full.
“Um. Okay.” Jordan sounded disappointed. “Want some coffee? Or Owen has some immunity-boost tea he drinks this time of year.”
But Mr. Reserved had turned into Mr. Ice. Mack’s face was entirely shut off. “Nah. I need to get going. It was nice of you guys to invite me for dinner, though. I owe you.”
He headed for the living room without waiting for a response. Jordan and Owen exchanged a worried look, and then Owen got up to see him out. When Jordan and I were alone, he made a fist in the air, puffed out his cheeks, and spiraled one finger down, down. down with a falling bomb sound. His hand plopped on the table and lay there twitching.
Epic fail. No kidding.
“Mierda,” I muttered. All those giddy, hopeful feelings I’d had earlier evaporated along with my pleasant buzz.
It shouldn’t hurt. I barely knew the guy. But fuck, it stung.
I heard Owen let Mack out. He came back to the table and gave me a regretful smile as he sat down. “Sorry, Gabe. I told Jordan it wasn’t a great idea. Mack is… prickly. I dunno. He’s just not the most social guy.”
“Hey, it was an experience,” I said with a shrug like it didn’t matter.
I forced myself to eat Jordan’s Christmas dessert.
Owen insisted on washing up, probably to give Jordan and me a chance to talk. We put on our coats and went for a walk. It was freezing out and very dark. A few of the other units close to Jordan and Owen’s had Christmas lights up around the windows, and someone had put red lights on a little fir tree at the edge of the complex. As we walked past it, its cheerful message made me feel even more melancholy.
