“I’m ordering Mendochetti’s.” She made a spur-of-the-moment choice.
He raised his eyebrows at that. “Thin crust. Veggie and Canadian bacon. No pepperoni or sausage.”
“Thin crust. Pepperoni on half.”
She didn’t like pepperoni, but she would not give him exactly what he wanted either.
“As long as your pepperoni doesn’t touch my half.”
“For once, we agree on something,” she said.
“At least we agree on the important stuff,” he said under his breath.
She wasn’t totally in agreement with that assertion, but she’d hit her quota of arguing with Bax for the decade, so she figured she’d let that one go.
The pizza was delivered quickly, and they settled in front of the television. She turned on her favorite girl-meets-boy reality show du jour, the one she was currently bingeing on Hulu.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, gesturing to the TV with his pizza.
“It’s television.” She picked off a pepperoni from her slice.
“That’s like the sugary cereal of television.” He made a gagging nose.
“Someone really jacked your logic up if you think that’s a bad thing.”
Not that she could really defend hers as she was picking off the make-a-point pepperonis.
They didn’t talk for a while after that. Which, to be clear, was a good thing.
“Thank you for this,” he said finally, eyes still riveted on the television like he actually might be interested in the show—he wasn’t, she was sure.
“You’re welcome for this,” she replied, ripping off another slice of pepperoni.
Her phone finally—thank hell, finally—chimed with a message from Hans.
Hans: Problem. He needs to sit tight at your place. Photogs everywhere. He gets your couch, yeah?
Uh. No. No. No. No.
Courtney lifted her phone and dialed Hans.
“Are you serious right now?” Truly, Courtney didn’t mean to sound shrill. This, however, was not good news.
Bad news.
This was bad news.
“We’ve got to keep him low,” Hans said. For the first time since she’d known him, he actually sounded tired.
Generally, Hans had an unlimited amount of energy.
Hans was a big guy. Big in the bodybuilding sense. When he wasn’t managing the band, he was hitting the gym. Brown skin, brown eyes, and a kick-ass smile that made up for the fact that he’d probably planted a microchip tracker somewhere in her shoes. Because how else did he know where she was every second?
“A few hours? A few days? What are we talking?” Courtney specifically didn’t look at Bax as he moved to the kitchen and… huh, he washed his plate. That was nice of him. Very un-Bax-like.
“A few days? Nah. More like weeks,” Hans corrected. “Em preempted. She went to TMZ. She’s looking to spill every drop of tea about their relationship. This is bad.”
Courtney gasped. Bax stilled.
