Page 129 of The Home Game

Matty squawked, sounding like an outraged bird. “Whatever! Bring it!”

They battled their way through the final set and to Antoni’s complete and utter shock, he came out victorious.

He whooped with delight and ran around the net to kiss Matty. “This victory celebration is fantastic,” he said when he pulled back, lips tingling.

“Me too. Even if I lost.” Matty sounded disgruntled, which Antoni shouldn’t have found as endearing as he did.

Laughing, they gathered the tennis balls and walked back to the house, Matty’s arm draped over his shoulder.

“So, you know nothing about hockey but you smoked me in tennis,” he said mournfully. “How is that even possible?”

“I didn’t smoke you. I got a couple of lucky bounces at the end there,” Antoni protested.

The truth was, Matty had made playing look easy. Antoni had fought for every win. He was drenched in sweat and he felt shaky from exertion.

“Weights?” Matty said hopefully as they hung the rackets in the garage.

“Fuck no.” Antoni groaned. “Not if you want me to be able to move tomorrow!” He could hold his own but it had taken everything out of him to do it.

“Oh, fine, weights tomorrow. Instead, I’ll get some electrolytes in you, make you a protein shake, then we can do the steam shower and I’ll give you a massage after.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully again.

“Deal.”

After a surprisingly tasty shake and a horrible electrolyte replacement drink that was gross but necessary, Matty kissed him hard then said, “Race you to the steam shower!”

Antoni laughed, stumbling along in his hurry to get in there too.

After some soaping up and a lot of making out, Matty helped Antoni dry off. He looked content and relaxed and it made Matty smile as they dressed.

Matty sweet-talked Antoni into getting horizonal on the couch and they napped for about an hour.

When they finally woke, Matty was content to lie there with Antoni in his arms but his stomach reminded him it was getting close to dinner time.

“I’m going to cook for you this time,” Antoni said firmly. “How do you feel about chicken parm?”

“I love it but I try not to eat too much fried stuff,” Matty said with a frown. “The team nutritionist kinda frowns on it.”

“No, no, you’ve gotta put it in the oven,” Antoni insisted. “God, do you think I have time to fry chicken with four kids around? Or that it wouldn’t end up with someone going to the emergency room?”

They both shuddered.

“True. Doesn’t the breadcrumb coating get soggy on the bottom though?” Matty asked.

“Not if you cook them on a rack. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Antoni showed Matty how to pound the meat and rolled his eyes every time Matty made jokes about that, though clearly, he knew they were hilarious and refused to admit it.

Antoni mixed together the breading ingredients, then pulled out stuff for sauce.

“I have a good sauce recipe,” Matty protested.

“And I have Italian grandparents,” Antoni countered. “Look, I mean it. I can cook ten things well and this is one of them. You sit and watch.”

“Can’t I stand and watch?” Matty asked hopefully.

“No, because you won’t keep your hands to yourself!” Antoni protested.

In retaliation, Matty bullied his way close, pinned Antoni to the refrigerator, and kissed him senseless until Antoni playfully pushed him away.

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