I can tell she’s chewing on something in her mind.
“Say it, Madi.”
“What?”
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
She exhales and stops walking. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”
“You won’t.”
“But what the hell was with those portion sizes? I ate the garnish out of desperation.”
I bark out a laugh. “Thank Christ you said it.”
Her eyes widen. “You noticed?”
“I was about to start gnawing on the leather seats in my car.”
We both look down the street at the same time. Three blocks away, a neon sign is buzzing, casting a greasy, beautiful red glow over the sidewalk.
Tony’s 24-Hour Pizza.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Let’s get you fed. I won’t have you telling your friends I left you hungry.”
∞∞∞
Twenty minutes later, the Michelin-star experience has been officially replaced by two extra-large slices of pepperoni and a side of garlic knots.
We’re heading back to the car now. The air is cooler, the city sounds are muffled, and Madison is finally visibly soft. The pizza has done what the sea bass couldn’t—it’s made her carefree.
“I have a confession,” she says as we walk. “This dress was definitely only made for the smaller portions. I can feel the pepperoni fighting for space.”
“You look beautiful.”
She does. She always does.
“I feel like a sausage in silk,” she giggles. It’s a light, bubbly sound I’ve never heard from her before. Then, she winces and stumbles slightly in her heels. “And these shoes… they’re beautiful, but they’re torture devices.”
I stop walking and step in front of her. “Hop on,” I say, pointing to my back.
She eyes me, her mouth falling open. “You… you want to carry me on your back? In the middle of the street?”
“Yes.”
“Beckett, there are people around. We’re in front of a dive bar.”
“And?” I look back at her over my shoulder. “I’m a doctor. I’m used to transporting patients. You’re just a very well-dressed one.”
She laughs again and kicks off the red heels. She bends down, loops the straps over her fingers, and sighs. “This won’t be classy, Doc. This dress is basically welded to my skin.”
“What happens back there is none of my business.”
She hops up, her silk-clad thighs gripping my waist as her arms lock around my neck. I hitch her up, adjusting my grip, and start walking. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, her breath warm against myskin.
As we pass a huddle of girls outside a club, a few wolf-whistles ring out.
“That is so cute!” one of them shouts.
