Happy (5 page)

memory lane—and moved on to the team and club section. Sure enough,

there was Louie in the pep squad, surrounded by five girls and a stack of

pompoms. While the girls wore the ubiquitous short skirts, Louie’s uniform

consisted of shorts—the photo was black and white, but Peter remembered

them as being blue and gold—and a sleeveless shirt with “Eastdale”

emblazed across the chest. His skinny legs made Peter chuckle.

Below that image was one of the senior football team, with Peter front

and center down on one knee and the rest of the guys around him. His

eyes were drawn to it. Fuck, he looked so young. They all did. Some friend

whose signature he couldn’t decipher had written below it in god-awful

handwriting: “Goliaths 0. The Future TBD.”

He quickly snapped the book shut and tossed it onto his unmade bed.

Peter finished dressing, donning the black slacks and button-down

shirt he was beginning to feel he lived in. Even though the restaurant was

a casual place, Pop still insisted everyone look presentable. Peter thought

they all looked as though they were going to a funeral.

He paused on his way out the door. He should probably check on

Demetra and see how she was doing. He felt a flicker of guilt for not thinking

of it before.

But shit. His phone. It wasn’t beside the bed where he usually left

it. Or on the dresser, or under the bed. In a panic, Peter rifled through the

laundry basket and searched the pockets of the jeans he’d worn last night.

He threw them back when he found them empty.
Think, dammit.
Where

could it be?

He remembered calling Demetra to pick him up. That was the last time

he’d used it. Had he left it at Adam’s? He hoped so. It was two operating

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26

systems out of date and there was a big crack across the screen, but he

couldn’t afford to replace it right now.

He had some money put away, but working at the family business, he

didn’t even draw a regular salary like the other employees. Every quarter

when they did the books, he got a sort of allowance—which never amounted

to very much. His day-to-day spending money came from what he earned in

tips. And this month he was a little short.

But he would have to deal with the phone situation later or risk giving

his pop something to yell about by being late. Peter locked the door and,

since the weather was good, slid his sunglasses on and walked the short

distance to the diner.

Balmy summer Sunday afternoons were always busy at the restaurant,

with an influx of pedestrians looking for a place to grab a quick bite. To no

one’s great surprise, Mike had called in sick again—the third Sunday this

month—and Peter was hustled off his feet, filling in wherever needed while

Stavros worked the grill and Annie waited tables. If it had been up to him,

he would have fired Mike’s slacker ass long ago; even Annie, who was only

twenty-two and a part-time college student, was more reliable. But Mike

was a distant cousin and therefore subject to Pop’s “family is everything”

policy.His dad had opened the place in 1985, long before the strip, now known

as GreekTown, had become hip and popular. He’d bought the whole building

a few years later, and now the rent from the apartment above kept them afloat

during the leaner winter months. Today the area boasted an impressive array

of restaurants—most of them Greek—almost a dozen crammed into one short

mile, and Kosta’s Greek Grill struggled to compete in a saturated market. Just

one more worry riding on his shoulders these days.

The atmosphere was casual, family oriented, with an open kitchen

along one wall and booths along the other. Although they had seats for forty,

the majority of the business was takeout. A large flat-screen television was

broadcasting a steady stream of European football above a small bar. While

the restaurant next door catered to the upscale crowd with high-priced

Mediterranean cuisine, Kosta’s had no such aspirations. Just like the décor,

the menu hadn’t changed since Peter had been born: souvlaki and gyros.

Sometimes he fancied if they cut him open that’s all they’d find inside.

The weather today was beautiful, so Peter had folded back the floor-

to-ceiling front windows to make the most of it. He’d been after Pop to set

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27

up extra tables on the sidewalk like all the other places on the block, but that

idea, along with many of his others, had been vetoed.

By 2:00 p.m. the worst of the lunch rush was winding down, and Peter

was behind the small bar restocking, when Annie leaned across the counter

and startled him. “So, I caught Kosta out back smoking again last night,”

she said with a wicked grin.

Peter ground his teeth. Honestly it was like taking care of a child

sometimes. His pop seemed determined to flout every rule laid down by his

doctors. “And?”

“He told me to mind my own business. And not to tell you, of course.”

“Well, thanks anyway. I’ll have a talk with him. Not that it will do

much good. I’m the last person he listens to.”

Annie dropped her tray on the bartop with a clatter. “Whoa. Hello,

handsome,” she murmured.

Peter spun around to see who had inspired her comment and found

Demetra’s brother standing just inside the front door. At least he
thought
it

was Demetra’s brother, because he hadn’t really taken much of a look before,

and last night… last night was a bit of a blur.
Whoa
, indeed. The cheerleader

with the stick legs had definitely filled out in all the right places—tanned,

broad shoulders revealed by a sleeveless shirt; hairy, muscular calves

beneath the knee-length shorts.

That explained his dreams this morning.

Louie slid his sunglasses up to perch in his short, wavy brown hair,

blinking as his eyes adjusted to the interior. He appeared to be searching for

something. Or someone. Peter had the strange feeling it was him.

For the briefest second, his chest seized in panic. Had he done

something crazy last night?

“Am I drooling?” Annie mumbled. “I feel like I’m drooling.” Her

gaze was positively predatory.

“Hey,” Peter barked. “Table five needs more pita.”

“But—”

“Now.”

“Yes, boss,” she sighed.

Louie didn’t smile when he finally caught sight of Peter. Rather, his

lips thinned and his jaw tightened beneath the expertly sculpted dark stubble.

A surge of awareness swept up Peter’s spine, strong enough to make him

take an inadvertent step back even though he was safely ensconced behind

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28

the bar. “Hey,” he said cautiously as Louie strode his way, bringing with

him a faint, familiar citrusy-spicy scent that made Peter’s skin tingle.
Oh no.

Right.
Now
he remembered. Those strong arms pulling him upright,

that hard chest, the exotic smell of his skin.

“This place hasn’t changed since I was a teenager,” Louie remarked as

he glanced around in amazement.

Peter cleared his suddenly dry throat. “What are you talking about? I

replaced those booths a few years ago. And the bar is new. That was my idea,”

he boasted defensively. Despite his father’s protests and tight pockets, Peter

had been able to make a
few
improvements over the years. He’d fought long

and hard to get the liquor license, since that’s where the real money was.

He’d rebranded the menus, increased the marketing, and started setting up

a booth at the annual Greek festival that drew in millions of attendees every

summer. But every time he mentioned updating the place, his dad gave him

the same “when I’m dead and you’re in charge, you can do as you wish”

speech. Since that always cut a little too close to home for Peter’s comfort,

that was usually the end of the discussion.

“Music’s the same,” Louie pointed out with an arch of one eyebrow.

Peter rolled his eyes. Piping through the dusty speakers was an endless

god-awful loop of Greek pop singers from the eighties and nineties. “The

playlist is strictly hands-off. I’m not allowed to touch it.”

Louie cracked a smile for the first time, showing off a dimple in his

right cheek, right where the stubble ended. The sight made Peter’s heart

race. “Do you guys still make that spanakopita?”

“Of course.” His grandmother’s recipe for the phyllo-wrapped spinach

and cheese pie was legendary. One of their biggest sellers. “You know it?”

“Know it? I practically lived on it. I used to hang out here a lot. Spent

most of my allowance here.”

“Really?” Peter frowned. He’d been cooking on the line since before

he could drive. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“Why would you? You were a popular senior. And I was just Louie

the Queerboy.”

There was a bitter undercurrent in Louie’s voice that made Peter pause.

The vicious nickname rekindled his memory and gave him an uncomfortable

feeling. “Please tell me I never called you that.”

“Not to my face. So you’re off the hook.” His tone was cool as he held

up Peter’s missing phone. “Anyway, I think this is yours.”

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29

“Yes! Thank you.” Peter took the phone gratefully. “I was dreading

trying to track it down.”

“You must have dropped it in the car.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. And thanks for last night. In case I didn’t

say it then.”

“No problem.” Louie cocked his head and studied him. Again Peter

experienced that disquieting feeling, but he couldn’t seem to look away.

“You’re looking pretty alert for a man who couldn’t walk straight last night.”

“Tylenol and a gallon of coffee are all that are keeping me together.”

They stared at each other until the silence became uncomfortable. “Uh, how

is Demetra feeling? I was going to call her but….” Peter waved his phone.

Louie broke eye contact. “She’s, um, she’s better.”

“She probably just needed some rest. I’ll call her later.”

“Rest,” Louie repeated, all the while slowly backing away. “Yeah.

Well, see ya around.” He pivoted, only to draw up short and start when he

encountered a skulking Annie.

“Hi, can I get you a table?” she cooed, practicing what Peter surmised

was a sultry smile. He groaned. Sometime in the last sixty seconds, she’d

also lost a button on her black shirt, revealing an impressive display of

cleavage. Louie didn’t even blink.

“Thanks, but I’m not staying,” he said.

“Are you sure? I could tell you about the specials. You might find

something you like.”

“Annie,” Peter warned, drawing his finger across his throat in the

universal gesture to cut it out. “We don’t have any specials.”

She looked Louie up and down before dropping the act and putting

her hands on her hips. “This isn’t working for you, is it?”

“Not one bit,” he replied with a grin. “Sorry.”

“I thought so.” She sighed and walked away in a huff. Peter heard her

mutter, “All the good ones are gay.”

Peter’s face heated. “I’m sorry about that. She’s not usually so….”

Louie chuckled. It was deep and rich and made the hair on Peter’s

arms stand up. “Don’t worry about it. It’s good for the ego.”

Somehow Peter didn’t think Louie had to worry about self-esteem.

Not looking like that. He suddenly didn’t want Louie to leave and that

worried him.

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30

“Hey,” Peter called before he could stop himself, then was left

scrambling for something to say when Louie turned around and stared at

him expectantly. “I, uh, looked you up in the yearbook this morning,”

“Yeah?”

He couldn’t stop his grin. “Nice pompoms.”

Louie narrowed his eyes menacingly, but beneath those well-shaped

brows, they sparkled. That lone dimple flashed briefly. “Really, mullet man?

You want to go there?”

Peter ran a rueful hand over his shaved head and chuckled. “Yeah, I

guess I’ve changed more than this place.”

“It suits you.”

“First time I’ve heard that.”

He thought Louie might have blushed a little. But at least he was

smiling and not looking at Peter like he was gum on the bottom of his shoe

anymore. Maybe Louie had just expected a little more gratitude. After all,

he had gone out of his way for him. Twice. He really should return the favor.

“Do you want something to eat? On the house.”

Louie seemed surprised, judging by his expression. “Rain check? I’m

looking at a couple of apartments this afternoon.”

“Oh, sure.” Peter shrugged.
Why the hell was he so disappointed?

“Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah. Come by. Any time.” His eyes trailed after Louie’s departing

figure, lingering too long for his own comfort on the slim hips and well-

muscled legs, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He thought he might be

in trouble.

Why now? And why Louie Papadakis of all people?

“Well, well. Look at you,” Annie cooed, sneaking up on him once