Her arms went over my shoulders, her hands behind my head. “I don’t have an opinion.”
“If you could have anything you want, what would you pick?”
“Anything?”
I nodded. “It’s our last night together. I want you to remember every part of it.”
Her tongue curved around her top lip and stayed like that until she said, “The food isn’t going to be what I remember.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not.”
“Do you know how powerful food can be?”
“Says a true foodie, Whiskey, and I appreciate that—I do, in ways you don’t even understand. But you’re going to be what I remember. The talks we’ve had and the movies I recommended that played in the background and we didn’t watch even a second of them. How you’ve tasted me on almost every surface of this suite. And”—her hand lowered, her palm pressing against the left side of my chest—“this. Dripping all over the bathroom and loving every second of it.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Sky held her hand in front of her mouth, hiding the full bite she had inside. “This isn’t just pizza. This is the most incredible combo I’ve ever tasted.” She moaned. “And this crust and the fresh mozzarella and the sauce—how simple it is, yet so perfect.” She turned the piece, looking at it from all angles. “I can’t get over it.”
I laughed. “And you thought pizza was a boring choice.”
“I didn’t say it was boring.” She hit me with her napkin. “When I was unable to make a decision, I was just shocked that, out of all things, you went with ordinary. I figured you’d go totally obscure and do octopus ceviche or, like, a soufflé—you know, something complicated.” She pulled the napkin back and wiped the sides of her mouth.
“The funny thing is … this was obscure.” I took a drink of my Coke.
“The pizza? How?”
I set the glass down and clutched my hands together. “You really want that answer?”
She broke off a corner of the crust, and before it went into her mouth, she said, “Please.”
I leaned back into the couch. “When I was in Italy a few years ago, I met the owner of a restaurant. He was on the verge of retiring, giving the business to his son. He told me that when he wintered in Italy, he’d help out his boy here and there, but when he spent the rest of the year in LA, he’d stay far away from the kitchen.” A plan I could relate to in so many fucking ways. “The pizza in that restaurant was the best I’d ever had, and we exchanged numbers. Once in a while—and I’m talking, once in a very great while—I can convince Francesco to make me a pie. Of course, that means he must have all the ingredients, and tonight, he didn’t, so he had to go out and get them.That also meant someone had to go pick the pie up from his house since he doesn’t deliver. And that also meant that whoever brought it here needed to find a way to keep it warm because eating this cold”—I held up my wide slice—“would be a real tragedy.”
As soon as she swallowed, she stopped eating and stared at me. “You’re saying all of this happened in the last two-ish hours, when you disappeared into the bedroom to make a call?” When I nodded, she continued, “That you didn’t get this pizza from a restaurant? And that you didn’t have Uber—or some other app—deliver it?”
“It came straight from Francesco’s home kitchen.”
“How?” Her eyes widened.
I chuckled. “For most, it would probably be impossible. For me, it’s easy as hell.”
“Wow.” She glanced down and went silent. “If you had been here alone, would you have gone through the trouble of having pizza tonight?”
When she looked up, I saw the emotion in her eyes.
“No.”
“You did all of this for me?” She took a breath. “Because you wanted me to taste the best pizza I’ve ever had? And probably will ever have?”
“As fucked up as things are in my life, shit like this has a real meaning.” I took a few deep breaths, reining in my feelings before I said anything more on that topic. “His pizza is spectacular, and I wanted to share it with you. That’s all this was.”
Her fingers went to my biceps, her nails briefly grazing my skin. “I’m never going to forget … any of this.”
EIGHT
Alivia
Ididn’t know what time it was when my eyes opened, but the room was completely dark, not even a single bit of light was coming in through the blinds. Positioned on my side, I had a perfect view of Whiskey, his eyes open as he lay on his back, appearing like he was staring at the ceiling.
