Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“It looks delicious,” I commented, picking up my fork.
“Fricasé de pollo. Basically, it’s a stew. I love it. My mom makes this.”
“Mmm. It’s good. Isn’t this a Cuban dish? I thought you said you’re half Mexican,” I said before taking another bite.
Gabe rolled his eyes. “I am. She makes apple pie and mac and cheese too. Not just Mexican food. And this isn’t necessarily a Cuban dish. I think it’s a Caribbean thing. I have a Puerto Rican friend who makes a mean fricasé de pollo. I told my mom about it, and she decided to give it a try. She’s an amazing cook.”
“Did she teach you?”
“No. I get by okay. I keep it super basic. Protein shakes and veggies and pasta. What about you?”
“I’m pretty good in the kitchen. It’s the one room in our house that my parents didn’t use, so I had free rein to concoct experiments and learn new recipes. Our housekeeper taught me a little. The rest I’ve learned on my own. In my perfect world, I would have gone to culinary school.”
“Go after you graduate.”
“My folks are never going to be on board with that. I’ve taken a few hospitality courses but as far as they’re concerned, that’s just for fun. Real money is in business.”
“Where does water polo fit in?”
“Team building, discipline, fitness. I’ve been playing since I was nine years old. They signed me up for water polo at our club without asking me. I thought I’d hate it. I love the water, but I just wanted to swim. Not have people yanking at my trunks and kicking my side to get the ball away from me. I liked it better than I thought I would. And then I loved it because I was good at it and it was mine.”
“Like the kitchen?”
“Exactly.” I grinned. “My mom plays tennis. Dad golfs. Neither of them knows anything about my sport. They probably didn’t think I’d play water polo in college. I’m sure they’ll be relieved when this season is over, and I finally graduate and get a job. They’re totally supportive. But in a controlling way, if that makes sense. I guess it comes with being an only child.”
Gabe nodded thoughtfully. “I’m an ‘only’ too. Different story but I get it. My dad played in college. He wanted to make me into his ‘mini me.’ I was doing drills with him in the pool at the local high school when I was in first grade. I hated it back then. After awhile he gave up on me, divorced my mom, and started over again. That’s when I really got interested in the sport.”
“Did you think he’d come back?” I asked gently.
“Maybe. I dunno.” Gabe sighed and made a funny face. “Okay, yes. I was pretty sure it was my fault he left in the first place. So I made it my mission to be the best damn water polo player I could be. It didn’t work. He never came back. But he claims he’s proud of me. He actually called to congratulate me when I made the national team. He rarely comes to my games. He says he’s busy with work, his new family, and blah, blah, blah, but I think he’s holding out to see if I actually make the Olympic team.”
“No offense, but he sounds like a jerk,” I huffed indignantly on his behalf.
“He’s a narcissist. If it’s not about him, he’s not interested. He liked that my mom’s English wasn’t great when they met. It meant she needed him. And he liked that I was a strong swimmer and a fast learner at an early age. But he didn’t like it when Mom’s English got better or when I voiced my own opinions. Maybe his new family is more cooperative,” Gabe said with faux nonchalance.
“How many stepsiblings do you have?”
“Two stepbrothers. They’re eight and ten. I can’t remember the last time I saw them. Or my dad. Oh, wait. I remember now.” Gabe snorted, then shook his head in disbelief. “He came to one of my games six months ago. It was a nail-biter. Double overtime turned into a shootout and thankfully we won. He offered to take me out to dinner afterward and I kid you not, he spent the entire hour giving me tips on how to improve my shot. He picked apart my game like a sports analyst. I kept trying to change the topic, but he wouldn’t take the hint. Crazy thing is…we have nothing else to talk about. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know my favorite band or TV show, and I’d bet you a million bucks he has no idea what my major is.”
I set my fork down and straightened my leg under the table, nudging his knee again and resting my calf against his. It wasn’t a stealthy or particularly sexy maneuver, but it was the best I could do. And maybe Gabe understood. He smiled and held my gaze. When I noticed his eyes slip to my mouth, I bit my lower lip and started babbling.