looked at me a little incredulously. “You know I get the CVs for all the program directors, right? I’ve seen your credentials.”
Okay, that smart-assness came back to bite me. “No, I didn’t, but I’m glad you’re aware how impressive I am.”
He bit his bottom lip like the sexy-ass fucker he was while he competently flipped the chicken in the pan. “You got a master in nonprofit management and master of social work. You’re not exactly a slouch in the higher education department.”
I looked over to see what the other four were doing and it seemed that they were engrossed in whatever Dani was showing them on his phone. “My dad is tenured at CUNY so I got a lot of breaks on tuition.”
Now I was the one shrugging, and feeling like I wanted to share this little bit of myself that I rarely talked about with anyone. “I started with social work, but after a while I noticed that even with my master’s there were only certain jobs out there. I could be a therapist, maybe a supervisor. But a director? Nah.” I shook my head at Rocco, who had put a lid on the pan and was now fully focused on me. “Those jobs went to white women. The black and brown social workers who were serving the black and brown customers, we were frontline staff, maybe middle management. None of the executives ever looked like me.”
I looked up at him expecting to find defensiveness, or a pursed mouth in response to what I’d said, but the only thing I saw were open eyes and understanding.
“Coach always talked about that. That even though in the city schools most of the kids weren’t white, the faculty and administrators were. That it impacted the odds of kids being able to thrive.”
Fuck. Of course he wouldn’t be an ass about this.
I tripped on my tongue when I tried to say something to that effect. In the end, I exhaled and just let this moment of feeling understood be what it was: good.
“Yeah, it’s also an issue in social services agencies and nonprofits. The people doing all the programming and making the decisions don’t look like the kids and adults they’re planning for, and no matter how good their intentions, we need to have a seat at the table too. We have an understanding that only comes from living through similar things.”
I turned to fill my glass again, and pointed at his half-drunk beer. “You good?”
“I’m cool.” I smiled, again because every once in a while, the Queens just jumped out of Rocco, and if possible that made him even hotter.
“Anyway, I went back and got my master in management, so nobody could tell me I couldn’t run my own show.” I slid a hand over the granite of the counter and once again looked for words to talk about things I rarely voiced out loud. “That’s why this job is so awesome. They’ve just let me run with it. I built that program for the kids and families I always dreamed of working with from the ground up.”
He looked at me then and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Hoping that him doing his job didn’t have to cost me mine.
“You’re a badass, Julia Ortiz.”
He said it like he meant it, and for that second I believed him.
“So are you, Rocco Quinn. Born and raised in the best borough. We came out of the womb ready to kick ass.”
That got me a scorching long look from under hooded lids that reminded me of the ones I got from the boys back on the block when they wanted something with me. This man had just enough street in him to make me falter in my celibacy plans, no doubt.
I needed to drop some work shit into this moment because I was getting dangerously close to getting tripped up. “What did you think of the visit?”
He cocked his head to the side as if he knew I was backtracking on the personal talk. “You’re running a great program.”
No reassurance that he would put in a good word or not mess with it, but I also knew that was not his call. Best to leave it alone and let myself have a night with friends. I fucking deserved this.
“So now that you know I can make sofrito, does that mean we’re more than professional acquaintances?” The hint of playfulness in his smile made the blood bubble under my skin.