He nods, proud of it. “Yeah, man.”
I give him a look so polite it borders disrespectful. “Right. Cool. Thanks for clarifying.”
Behind my hand, Frankie is vibrating with rage, huffing out loud.
“You sure she’s not in there? I’d really like to talk to her.”
“No, she’s not.”
“But I heard?—”
I clear my throat. “Nah, that was me. Allergies.”
He looks at me like I’m lying—which, granted, I am—but he also clearly doesn’t want to challenge me.
“You lot got… three pizzas?” he asks, still half-searching for Frankie.
“Yep.” I reach for the bags, keeping my body angled so he can’t see her at all. “We’re having a chill night. I’m… you know…” I gesture vaguely toward Frankie’s trapped form, “…busy.”
His whole face drops. “Oh.”
I nod slowly, letting the implication marinate.
“Ohhh.”
I tilt my head. “Yeah.”
He bites his lip, wounded. “So you and Frankie… like… you’re a thing?”
Behind my hand, she stiffens so hard I feel it through my forearm.
I look down at her and grin.
“Yeah, bro,” I say, dropping my voice low. “We’re… seeing where it goes.”
Frankie freezes.
Delivery Guy’s soul leaves his body.
She’s gonna kill me. Well, this is pay back for that punch. And other things.
“Oh,” he says again, voice cracking. “Yeah. Cool. Cool cool. Nah that’s—yeah. Sick.”
I take the pizzas. “Appreciate you, man.”
He nods miserably. “Tell Frankie I said—actually nah. Don’t worry. Enjoy your… evening.”
He trudges back down the hall like someone kicked over his dollhouse.
I close the door with my foot.
Slowly… slowly… I take my hand off Frankie’s mouth.
She inhales sharply, jaw flexing, eyes burning actual holes through my skull.
I smile.
“You’re welcome,” I say, bracing for the explosion.
