I roll onto my back and let out a victory cry.
“And no bitching,” he adds.
I nod eagerly, sliding off the mattress.
“And definitely no splashing water all over the place.”
“Your life is about to get a whole lot easier!” I laugh, following him out the door.
Somebody get this girl an Oscar.
In the kitchen, I set about getting everything ready, while Lane turns the music up high and washes his hands. I bump into him as I load up on ingredients from the cupboards, rummaging through the drawers.
“What should I do?” he asks.
I give him his instructions, and it doesn’t take long for all the awkwardness between us to start falling away. We chat. I sing. We argue back and forth about stuff that doesn’t even matter, we fight over pizza toppings, and I let him think he’s won before adding whatever the hell I like as soon as his back is turned. It feels great.
We peer in through the oven door at our masterpieces. “It looks weird.”
“It’s going to taste amazing, though!” I rub my hands together gleefully.
“This place looks like a bombsite—I’m still team delivery.”
“You are such a crybaby! You should be proud of yourself. You did a good job, though personally I would’ve sliced the onions a little thinner.”
“Here we go again! Girl, you wanted to add pineapple. Fuckingpineapple. So leave my onions out of this.”
I burst out laughing, watching as his face breaks into a smile. He slides two plates onto the coffee table, while I wipe down the kitchen counters. I pour the drinks as he slices the pizza. I’m finishing up in the kitchen just as Lane settles himself on the couch, and I’m feeling good about life, when I suddenly realize what’s happening. We’ve slipped into a cozy routine, and I’m about to wave it all goodbye.
“This smells amazing!”
I curl up next to him, grabbing a slice, holding a second out for him.
“What do you think, Lane? Aren’t you glad you gave into temptation?”
His gaze lingers on me a second, as if what I just said has hit a nerve. And then he bites down on the slice I’m handing out to him.
“Well?” I’m beyond excited right now.
He chews slowly, making me wait for it.
I shift onto my knees for a closer look. “Come on! What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
“Is that all?”
He takes another bite, chewing even slower this time.
“Lane, cut it out!”
He moves in for a third bite of the pizza I’m still dangling in front of him, but he barely has time to open his mouth when I slap the slice down over his face.
“Fuck!”
He dabs at the tomato sauce in his eye, and I’m bent double.
“For real?”
