Ignoring them, I dial the only pizza place near campus as I start my car. Antonio’s is a family-owned restaurant that has been in town since 1960. They deliver a well-crafted East Coast style pizza, but their Detroit style is better. I order two extra-larges of each type with an array of toppings. Plus, an order of dry-rubbed wings.
Who knows when my roommates ate last. Not like that matters anyway—they probably ate after practice, and are still empty pits.
“Yeah,you’ve told me five times. Now, don’t be an ass. The pizza is getting cold.”
Elliot is threatening to not let me in because I’m late. I guess threatening cold pizza is her limit. The door clicks to unlock and the light flashes green. Using one hand, balancing the pizza in the other, I finagle the door open. Rinse and repeat when I reach Sutton and Elliot’s door.
Pretty proud of myself for not dropping the pizza. Almost did getting out of the elevator, my Birkenstock clogs catching on the metal gap.
“Beer in the fridge,” Dawson calls from the couch as I set them on the counter. Separating them into smaller piles.
I grab two beers—one for me and one in case anyone needs another.
Everyone is in the living room. Jaxon, Elliot, Sutton, and Beckett are on the couch. Chase is lounging on the couch in front of Elliot, twiddling with something on the coffee table.
“What happened to the couch?”
Where the campus-issued, blue-gray, patent leather couch used to be is an oatmeal-colored, linen, J-shaped couch. Plush and appears far cozier than what they used to have. I don’t even bother taking the open spot next to Sutton, even though it’s gotta be more comfortable than the floor spot I head to.
“Too angular,” Sutton says while Elliot chirps, “Uncomfortable. We—I convinced the building manager to take it to storage when I found this on Facebook Marketplace. The guy let me have it for a hundred bucks. A steal!”
“A steal, or did you flirt?”
“Does it matter?”
Before I can sit down, Sutton stands, and I follow her back to the kitchen. In the cabinet next to the microwave, she pulls out plates.
Back to me, Sutton quietly mentions, “You’re off the hook. I found someone else to work with.”
“I told you I would do it.”
“Well now you don’t have to.”
I shake my head, trying to not let my disappointment show.
I flip open a box of pizza, taking the top plate and slide two slices onto it, and open a ranch cup. Sutton is staring at me when I face her and offer her the plate.
“That’s not cheese or pepperoni.”
It’s not. It’s her favorite. She hates admitting that she likes pineapple on pizza. When I ordered the extra pizza, I debated asking for a bag of M&Ms too. Write out I’m sorry on it, then she’ll know how deeply I mean it.
“Right, it’s pepperoni and pineapple with hot honey.”
“No one else likes pineapple.”
“But you do.” I don’t hate it, it’s not my favorite flavor combo, but I know no one else will eat it. I’ll pick off the pineapples once they become unbearable.
“You didn’t need to do that.” She takes the plate, then mumbles, “You don’t need to do anything for me.” Her words don’t match the tenderness in her voice.
“You know, a thank you would suffice.”
Big hazel eyes peer up at me. There’s a softness in the rivers of green that branch out across her iris. Flecks of gold that draw me closer to her, I can feel my body shift in her direction for a better look, a need to count each one.
A moment passes between us, as if we are peering through a looking glass at the friendship we once had. I blink and it evaporates.
We’re interrupted.
The guys crowd their small kitchen, breaking into the other boxes of pizza and wings. They layer and stack their plates exactly as I expected. I slide the box of pizza I got for Sutton away from their greedy and grabby hands.
