Chapter Eight
“That’s really what you like best about Philadelphia?” Rachel asked, staring at the bronze statue.
“Yeah. Why’s that weird? Rocky Balboa’s a local hero.”
“He’s not a real hero. He’s from a movie. And he didn’t do anything that was heroic. He was just a boxer.” Rachel recognized her mistake so quickly she should have been able to prevent herself from even making it.
But before she could take back her words or twist their meaning into something less insulting, Gabe was already talking. “Just a boxer? Just a boxer,” he repeated, making her feel even worse when he emphasized the word. “The next thing you’ll tell me is that Abraham Lincoln was just a president, and Jesus was just a carpenter.”
“Did you really compare Rocky to Lincoln and Jesus?”
Gabe stared at her. “That depends. Did you really insult your own people?”
“Presidents? Or biblical figures?” What the hell was Gabe talking about?
“No, not presidents,” Gabe clarified. “Athletes. You’re a sports reporter, aren’t you? Shouldn't you try to stay on their good side?” Despite his demonstrative gestures and defensiveness, she could tell Gabe was only giving her a hard time.
“I wouldn’t really call that ‘insulting.’ Heroes are cops and firefighters. And military or someone who saves a dog who gets stuck in a tree or something.” She saw Gabe’s smile begin to form, and she could tell he was holding back a laugh. “What?”
“Do a lot of dogs get stuck in trees?” His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking at her with an arrogance only Gabriel Torres could make charming.
“Shut up,” she said, stepping toward him so she could give him a playful punch to the arm. “Cats. And you know what I mean. Rocky’s a fictional boxer.”
“We may have to agree to disagree,” Gabe said.
Shaking her head, Rachel let her laugh be her reply before grabbing Gabe’s hand to pull him in front of the statue. “Take a selfie with me and Rocky,” she said, already pulling out her phone and angling it up so the shot could have all three of them in it.
“I don’t think Mr. Balboa gave his consent to be photographed,” Gabe said.
“You didn’t give yours either, but I’m still taking the picture,” Rachel said. “Now say cheese.”
“You’re very bossy,” Gabe replied as she snapped a few pictures.
Rachel shrugged as she flipped through the pictures to find the best one. Then she sent it to Gabe. “I texted it to you.”
“Oh, cool. Thanks. You care if I tweet it?”
“No, go ahead.”
“You have a Instagram account? I’ll tag you.”
The answer to Gabe’s question was yes, but she realized quickly that she shouldn’t disclose that. Her profile said she worked at All Access, a fact she’d neglected to share with Gabe when they’d run into each other after the Super Bowl, and that she felt awkward about announcing now. Also, the fact that Gabe was a former athlete in Philly, where she was tasked with finding out about a club for athletes, made her less inclined to share the tidbit with him. She knew it was inevitable, but the longer she could keep it to herself the better. She finally went with “My account’s private,” which she felt less guilty about saying since it was the truth.
Once Gabe shared the picture of them, the two headed to a restaurant that Gabe had suggested on Boathouse Row. She was glad he’d planned the outing without asking for her input because she’d only been to Philly a handful of times and didn’t have any suggestions about where to go. He’d taken her to the art museum first. Not striking her as the artistic type, she’d initially been shocked that he’d chosen to take her there. But when she’d asked him about his interest in art, he’d said he’d never really understood it, but that since Rachel’s mother was a painter, he thought maybe Rachel could explain some things to him.
The gesture had been sweet because not only had she been surprised that Gabe remembered the detail about her mother—a fact Rachel hadn’t even remembered mentioning—he’d also made her feel a little more comfortable in a strange city by giving her the opportunity to show him around too.
“So, what else have you been up to since we left college?” Gabe asked her once they’d sat down.
Since he already knew she was a journalist—though not the full extent of it—she wasn’t sure what he was asking exactly. “Nothing much. Just the usual. Did an eight-year stint in the slammer but got released for good behavior.”
“No one calls it ‘the slammer’ anymore,” Gabe said, his expression unaffected by her joke.
“I just did.” Then she gave him a cheesy grin, which caused him to laugh. His teeth appeared almost whiter than the crisp Henley he had on, and now that she was studying it, she couldn't pull her attention away from the way the material stretched over his chest. She remembered how it felt against her palms as she’d run her hands over him. She could almost feel the soft hairs tickling her skin at the thought.
Gabe put his elbows on the table and folded his hands slightly below his chin—a movement that made his biceps look like they might cause the cuffs around them to rip as they stretched. She was lost in the deep brown of his eyes and in the way his bronze skin looked even darker against the white of his shirt when Gabe’s voice startled her out of her visual foreplay. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Just thinking.” And, so Gabe didn’t have time to ask her about what, she told him about what she’d really been up to after college. She’d gotten an internship at a major sports news station, but the opportunity hadn’t resulted in a career at one. So since then she’d been taking some freelance work as it came and writing for a smaller publication. “Other than that, I’ve just been living the small-town girl, big-city life in New York.”
“You like it there?”
“I do. It’s expensive as hell though.” She quickly realized that Gabe probably wouldn’t be able to relate: He’d been paid millions of dollars from the time he he’d started his career. Paying seven dollars for a coffee was certainly no big deal to him. “And I don't get to go home much. It's tough to find time to fly all the way to Oregon. Weekend trips aren't really worth it.”
“Yeah, I definitely get that. My mom still refuses to leave Puerto Rico.” The way Gabe stirred his iced tea with his straw gave her the impression that the distance bothered him more than he let on.
“I didn't even realize that's where she lived.” The admission made her feel guilty because she realized that she knew less about Gabe’s life than he knew about hers. “Were you born there?”
“Yeah. My aunt and uncle moved to the U.S. years ago with my cousins, and a little while after they left, my mom sent me to live with them. She thought I'd get a better education here.”
Rachel tried to imagine what it would be like to move to a different country as a kid, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't. Her childhood had always been easy: two parents, two older brothers who gave her a hard time but were as protective as they were annoying. It wasn't until her father passed away when she was in college that she really had to deal with any serious struggle. “How old were you when you moved here?” she asked him.
“Twelve. But I'd still go home every summer as long as my aunt and uncle had the money to send me. There was no way my mom could've afforded it, but my uncle made a pretty good living. And once I was old enough to get a job, I saved the money myself.”
Rachel wanted to ask about Gabe’s father, but since he hadn't mentioned the man, she figured he didn't want to talk about him. “She's never wanted to move here so she could be closer to you?”
Gabe pulled off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth as he shook his head. “Nope. She's lived there all her life, and her English isn't great. When my grandparents passed, they left my mom the house that she grew up in. She loves that place. Won't even let me buy her a nice beach house or anything.”
“That's kind of sweet,” Rachel said, thinking about how so many people would probably take advantage of an offer like that. “Do you go there much?”
“Whenever I can. I couldn't get there at all during the season when I played though. Now that I'm retired, visiting should be easier.”
It made Rachel wonder why he wasn't there now. “Have you been back a lot since you retired?” She found herself genuinely wanting to know more about Gabe, which was a change for her. Having been single for a while and having a job that required her to interview people while maintaining a professional distance meant that it was rare that she cared on a personal level.
“Not as much as I'd like to. Twice, I think. For like two weeks at a time.”
“Oh, wow,” she replied. “I'm surprised you didn't want to stay longer.”
“I did. But it's hard to leave for long periods of time. I'm used to living out of a suitcase, but I'm kind of sick of it, to be honest.”
The two leaned back to let the server put down their meals. She asked if Gabe and Rachel wanted anything else, but they said they were fine.
“So what are you doing with all your new free time?”
Gabe cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable at the question. “Stuff,” he said, shrugging.
“What are you interested in? Do you have any hobbies or anything you've picked up?” She sounded like a nosy preschooler, and she knew it. But some habits died hard. And asking questions was one of them.
“Some, yeah.”
“Like what?” Rachel hadn't even taken a bite of her chicken yet, and she realized that to avoid seeming like some sort of military interrogator, she should probably do her best to act casual.
Gabe’s muscles seemed to tense a bit with the question, as if he hadn’t been anticipating it. Though she couldn't imagine why. It seemed like the next logical one to ask. Which was why she didn’t hesitate to ask it.
“Just some volunteer work,” Gabe said. “Jace has been working with a local organization for years that helps sick kids. It lifts their spirits when they can meet some of their favorite athletes. It’s how Jace met his fiancé, Aly, actually. She’s a pediatric oncologist.”
“That’s so sweet,” Rachel said. “I bet the kids love seeing all of you.” She paused for a moment, taking a sip of her iced tea and doing her best to act casual as she asked, “That doesn’t take up that much of your time, does it?”
Gabe shifted in his seat before answering. “No, I guess not. A few hours a week. But I’ve got some other things in the works.”
Rachel waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “You weren’t always this hesitant to talk about yourself,” she teased.
Gabe laughed. “I’ve always wanted to help animals. I’ve donated money to the Humane Society and places like that in the past, but I’d really like to get hands-on and make a difference.” She noticed Gabe eating faster, stabbing his pasta with his fork and popping it into his mouth between sentences.
“I love animals, too. Living in New York was the first time I didn’t have a pet in the house. I miss having someone to cuddle with.”
“You know I’ve been told I have puppy-dog eyes?” Gabe said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, though she couldn’t deny it was cute. He was cute. “What are you planning to do with animals?”
“Um… You know, normal stuff. Like find homes for strays and rescues. Things like that.” Gabe nodded as if he were the one listening to the information and not the one delivering it.
“Are you doing volunteer work for a certain rescue organization or…” Rachel’s question trailed off as she waited for Gabe to fill in the rest.
He finished chewing and took a sip of his drink before he spoke. “Yeah. Well, I mean I will be. Right now I’ve just been doing what I can at home.”
“What do you mean ‘at home’?”
Rachel had no idea what he meant by that and from the look on Gabe’s face, he seemed just as confused as she was. “Uh… I’ve taken in a few animals, given them some food and a place to sleep. And some love,” he tacked on almost as an afterthought. “Then I try to find a them a good home or a shelter that doesn’t euthanize them.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. So you visit sick kids and you’re saving the lives of animals one kitten at a time.”
Letting out an audible breath, Gabe nodded slowly. “I’m guess I’m pretty unbelievable, aren’t I?”
It was as if Gabe had taken the words right from her brain before she had a chance to utter them. Sexy and selfless was a combination that was hard to come by. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said with a smile.
***
Jace nearly spit out his beer on the pool table at Gabe’s words, but he was able to cover his mouth in time to prevent the mess.
“Watch it,” Gabe said, “I’m not replacing the felt on this thing because your saliva’s all over it.”
“Sorry,” Jace said once he was able to swallow what was in his mouth. “I just learned you told Rachel that you’ve been adopting feral cats so they aren’t put down. It would’ve been your fault if the table got ruined.”
Gabe glared at him before lining up for his next shot. “I did not say anything to her about feral cats. She just assumed that, so I ran with it.”
“Oh. Okay,” Jace said dryly. “That’s much better.”
“Shut up.” Gabe plopped himself down on the leather stool at the high-top table nearby and tossed his pool stick back and forth between his hands. “What would you have said?
“Not that.”
“This woman’s gonna think I’m a loser if I tell her I’ve been sitting around on my ass for the past however many months because I’m too lazy to do anything. And I can’t exactly tell her I’ve been spending my time at the secret club I’ve been running.”
“Well, that I agree with,” Jace said. “But I still feel like the non-profit animal shelter out of your house route wasn’t your best option.”
“I’m not good at thinking on my feet.”
“You don’t say?”
“So maybe I could’ve come up with something else—”
“Anything else.”
Gabe stared at his best friend but didn’t acknowledge his comment. “But that’s what I thought of, so now that’s what I’m stuck with.”
Jace laughed. “Just when I start to think you can’t be any more of a dumbass, you exceed my expectations.”
“Thank you,” Gabe said, a good-natured smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad my antics are at least entertaining to someone.”
“I’m sure they were entertaining to Rachel too. There’s no way she believed you opened a pet motel in your living room.”
Gabe took another sip of his beer as he tried not to act like Jace’s comment worried him. If Rachel thought he was lying last night, that didn’t bode well for any future relationship with her. “First of all, I’m not running a pet motel.”
“I know you’re not.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “And second of all, if I did have stray animals in my house, they wouldn’t be in my living room when I have two extra bedrooms. And it would be a hotel, not a motel. My place is nice.”
“Maybe you should start one,” Jace said. “You seem like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“Just take your turn before I beat you with your cue.”
“Okay, okay, I’m shooting.” Jace held up his hands before lining up his shot. “By the way, what’s going on with that dick, Barnes? He still giving you a hard time?”
“Nah, haven’t heard much from him lately. Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”
“That’s good. Maybe he’s given up.”
“I hope so. Running this place is tough enough without worrying about bitter ex-addicts trying to threaten their way back in. One of the bartenders quit suddenly the other day. She said one of the guys put his hands on her, but she wouldn’t even tell me who. Now I have to worry about the douchebag doing it again, and I have to find a replacement for her.”
“Shit,” Jace said, looking sympathetic.
“I know. It’s not like I can place an ad on fucking Craigslist or something. Where the hell do I look for a bartender for a club that’s not supposed to exist?”
“I have no idea, man. Did Mike leave any tips or instructions or anything about that stuff?”
“Not about that. He left info about the vendors and what paperwork people need to sign and stuff. But that’s really it. You’d be surprised how many little things pop up that I have no idea how to handle.” Exasperated, Gabe ran a hand through his hair. “Lately I’ve been thinking I shouldn’t have even agreed to this. I’m not cut out for it.”
Jace came over to him and put an arm around Gabe’s shoulders, squeezing him so hard against his own body it almost hurt. “Nah, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Gabe was just about to thank him for the kind words when Jace added, “And if you don’t, the pet motel thing sounds like a solid Plan B.”
Gabe glared at him. “I told you it was a hotel. And I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Jace replied.
And they both knew Jace was right: Gabe could never hate his friend. Not when he loved him so damn much.