“Not really. I just know you athletes are kind of funny about your food that’s all.”
His eyes narrow, before suggesting, “Let’s just get a pizza or something.”
“Okay, perfect. What kind did you want?”
“Personally, I’d prefer Hawaiian.”
He what?
“I’m sorry, come again?” I chuckle, “It just sounded like you said you want Hawaiian pizza.”
“I do. Pineapple belongs on pizza.”
I scoff. “No, it absolutely does not.” Like, seriously. This guy is insane.
“Oh, please. It’s the perfect balance between sweet and savoury. Give it a try,” he quips.
“Levi. Pineapple on pizza is a crime. It’s meatlovers or bust.”
Levi turns his nose up at that.
“Barbecue sauce on pizza is what should be considered a crime.” He rolls his eyes.
I contemplate our situation for a second, before coming up with a suggestion.
“How about you buy a gross Hawaiian pizza for you,” I start, “Then you also buy another meatlovers pizza for me. That sounds like a great plan.”
“What? Your credit card doesn’t work anymore?” He bites out.
I let out a shocked laugh. “Levi, you’re the reason we had to come out here anyway after not putting the effort in back home. I think it’s the least you can do.”
I see his mouth opening and closing but never coming up with the words.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LEVI
We drive around the last curve in the driveway, the lake house comes into view – three stories of glass and cedar, perched so elegantly above the water.
The late afternoon light spills across the wide deck, catching on the steel railings and illuminating them golden. It really is beautiful.
Scarlett cuts the engine beside the garage, and I look over to her as she supports an awestruck expression.
I don’t blame her; this house really is incredible.
I decide to break the silence to get things moving. “Alright, let’s get our shit and go inside.”
We’re quiet as we go to the trunk of the car and grab our things, Scarlett’s small grunts filling the air as she attempts to lug all her bags at once. I take a second to admire her bent over into the trunk, trying to wrangle in the obscene amount of baggage that she brought.
Rolling my eyes, I decide to pity her and help. “Here. I’ve got it.”
She slaps my hand away, turning to glare at me. “Don’t you dare. Not with everything going on with your shoulder.”
I sigh, moving toward the door as I call back to her, “Well, get moving, little Quinn.”
Scarlett’s light footsteps jogging toward me, and once she reaches me, she pulls the keys from my hand before retorting, “I’m not little.”
I admire Scarlett’s ass again in those grey leggings as she makes her way to the porch. God, she looks so good.
