STEFANO Sample {Gay / MM Romance}

6

I followed him from the carport to the duplexes, taking a sidewalk that led to the sand. "Does everyone in San Diego live at the beach?"

He unlatched a gate, heading into a small courtyard a block short of the boardwalk. "Why move here if you're not going to be on the water? This is me." He opened the door, letting me go by. "Welcome."

I stepped in, greeted by a giant cross hanging on the wall. Great, exactly what I hoped to see. "Nice place."

"Thanks." He closed the door behind him; I pretended not to notice that we were alone, in his place. "The kitchen is obviously right there," he said with a quick laugh. "The bathroom is down the hall, as is my bedroom."

I dropped my bag at the foot of the couch, probably where I'd be sleeping if there was only one bed. "Only one bedroom?" I confirmed.

He tossed his hands up. "Just the one."

So then I was definitely sleeping on the couch. That's fine; I could hack it for a night. I started around the room, looking from the cactus-like plants to a dream catcher on the wall next to some fabric thing, interesting.

"That's macrame," he said, suddenly behind me. "My sister made it."

"Mariana, right?" I continued to a bookshelf, distracting myself with the frames.

He stepped up beside me, immersing me in that cedar musk. "You remembered, wow! And that's my abuela." He reached to one of the frames, dusting it off with his fingers. "I think I told you about her. She passed away a few years ago. We were really close." His sleeve grazed my arm, that slight touch amplifying with each passing second.

Breathe. Focus on something. "And this?" I jerked my chin at the photo of him with two guys. Cousins, I was sure since one had his arm over Mark's shoulders.

"Friends," he answered.

Friends? They looked pretty fucking close. Friends. It was a deceiving word that meant a hundred different things, especially when they were smiling that big.

"And these are some of my trophies," he mused, hand drifting to a lower shelf. "Silly, I know."

He grabbed a small one, but he seemed proud, so I squinted to see the detail."Soccer?" I had a wall these back home, too-bigger, of course.

"Yeah, I was club all through high school," he boasted, setting the trophy back down, centering it on the shelf. "Did you play any sports?"

I nodded. "Varsity soccer since freshman year of high school, state champion four years running, All-Star, MVP through college." Probably would have gone pro if... if things had gone differently.

He shoved into my side. "Not to brag or anything."

I met his smile. "No, I'm definitely bragging. I'm really fucking good. Always striker, sometimes forward."

"Forward, huh?" he repeated, rubbing up against my side. "So you're good at many positions?"

Definitely. Did he not hear the All-Star part? "Yeah. I've played goalie too."

His smile grew even bigger. "Catching balls."

"Of course, I'm really fucking good with my hands." I stretched my fingers automatically, remembering those days in front of the net. "Balls are no match for me."

"Is that so?" He leaned in, closing the little space left between us. "I dare you to try and score."

Fuck, that's exactly what I needed! A good workout, a good score! I quickly scanned his place and took off for the ball he had in a basket near the entrance.