“Great-I’m-starving,” he slurred, ripping open the top box. “What the hell is that? Are those vegetables?” A serious frown stretched across his face. “You are the only person in the world I know who could ruin a pizza.”
“Bottom one has meat,” she said, looking at her phone again. This time the phone pinged with text after text. Someone wasreallytrying to get her. She rubbed at the back of her neck as she picked up her phone, her eyes quickly glancing at the words popping up—one after the other on the screen.I did not want her to take that call and leave me with Dean. I was seriously squinting my eyes and willing her to not take the call. “I’m sorry, Liv. I need to take this. It’s work,” she said, rushing out of the kitchen.
I didn’t even want to turn my face in his direction. I was filthy from cleaning vomit and other forms of bodily fluids and—
“You reek of bleach,” he said, devouring a slice of pizza in less than four bites.
I blinked, hesitating for a moment. I wanted to say something witty, something that might make him smile a little. “New perfume. It’s called Ode de Drunken Mom.” Then, I grabbed a slice of pizza before my rumbling stomach could come up with a more joke-worthy sound. One bite and I closed my eyes, sighing, forgetting for a moment about all the bad in my life. There was absolutely nothing in the world better than a slice of New York pizza. The cheese melted perfectly, almost too much of a struggle to bite off the slice, and the dough, oh God, it was heavenly.
“Your lips are like porn on pizza. How the fuck? You have pizza porn lips,” he mused drunkenly.
I stopped chewing instantly—pizza slice in midair—attached to my face by a long white strand of gooey mozzarella cheese.
What the heck was someone supposed to say back to that?I continued chewing and slowly swallowed, “Um thanks? I think.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be thanking me. Maybe that wasn’t a great compliment.” He slung his head back and finished the rest of his beer in one long gulp. He slammed it on the table, making me flinch back awkwardly.
“You’re not going to find the answers at the bottom of that bottle,” I blurted out, idiotically.
“Yeah, well, how would I know that if I didn’t look?” He brought the bottle to his right eye and peeked inside, grunted, then clunked the bottle back down on the table loudly.
I couldn’t believe he took me literally. There wasn’t even a hint of a tease or smile; he actually was looking for an answer in the bottle—he wasthatinebriated. And God, he looked a mess, worse than me, and I’d been scrubbing knee-deep nastiness for hours. “It was a rough day, huh?” I asked, after a few silent beats.
“What'd you say?” he asked, crumpling up a napkin and throwing it toward the garbage. It bounced off the edge and landed in the corner on the floor.
“Did you have a rough day? You're slamming everything around. Missing the garbage from less than a foot away. Looking into bottles for answers.”
He shrugged.
“What, no one ever asked you that before?” I asked, curiously.
“No, it’s not that. It’s that it doesn’t matter if my day is rough.” He twisted the top off another beer and watched me with somber eyes.
“Of course it matters—” I began.
“No it doesn’t,” he cut me off with a laugh, instantly disregarding me with his eyes.
I watched him take his holster off. He slid the gun off and onto a cabinet above Brooke’s refrigerator. I watched his movements. Tired and lumbering, the weight of the world was heavy on his eyes and on the corners of his lips. “Do you wear one of those bullet proof vests?” I asked, quietly.
His eyes flashed back to me as if just remembering I was still there. He hesitated a moment before he spoke, “Yeah, most of the time.”
“Most of the time? But…that means that sometimes youdon’t?”
He looked up at me and stilled. “Worried? Watch out Liv,” he smirked. “I might start thinking you still have a little crush on me.”
