“Why do you own a ‘Penis Colossus’ magnet?”
“Won a contest.”
I swallow my laugh and shake my head.
“A gift from one of my cruder friends. Oh, come on,” he says, the TV snaring his attention. “Catch the ball.”
“You’re one of those? A couch coach?” I rip my pizza into bite-size pieces. “Boring.”
“I’d be torn up by your disdain if you ate pizza like a normal person,” he says. “The hell is that?”
“It’s called ‘if I had a knife and fork handy, I’d use them instead, but I’m too lazy to get up.’”
He stares at me, absolutely horrified.
“Really? You, Mr. Vacuum-To-Control-The-Chaos himself, can’t understand not trusting a floppy piece of anarchy leaking sauce and cheese and oil everywhere?”
He grabs a slice purposefully, folds it in half, and takes a bite, staring at me all the while. To prove a point.
I’ve never been so gratified to see a renegade chunk of sauce fall on someone in all my life.
“Ah, shit.” He looks adorable, pressed in the far corner of his sofa, grimacing over his shirt. I feel a sudden, appalling wave of affection for him.
There have been times during the game when I was sure he was watching me, when I could almost feel the heat of his gaze moving from my cheeks to my throat, to…other places. And the feeling—that tense, heavy awareness in the air—made me want to crawl into his lap, biting and licking my way up his neck, to tease him into a response. But right now… I honestly just want to give him a hug, to curl myself into his side while he grumbles at the game.
Instead, I say nothing and pick apart my slice with a smile.
“Gloating is not attractive.”
“I’m not trying to attract you. I leave that to the poor, unfortunate Yelenas of the world.” I’m midway through her name when the pizza tastes sour in my mouth.
“Why do you still remember my appraiser’s name?”
“Mind like a steel trap.”
“Left to rust in the elements?”
“Hmm.”
“More like jealous and too chicken to throw your hat in the ring. I get it.”
My next bite of pizza goes down hard. I don’t like whatever this is. If he’s going to live next door to me, I can’t indulge whatever this banter is leading toward. I don’t last with guys. I’d be squatting where I eat. A fling next door,forever, if he buys his place. It hits me like a blow to the stomach. Which, in turn, annoys me.You were wrong about him cheating, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a dickhead.
Who you kind of goaded into being a dickhead, but still.
There’s the sound of fumbling in the hall, and then Avery and Anna burst through.
“Goddamn it, the people in this building need to stop letting people without keys in,” Jack announces.
“This is cozy,” Avery says, smiling broadly at me. His inebriated surprise at my pizza détente with Jack is evident. He’s probably proud of me for growing up or something.
“I’m sleeping over,” Anna tells Jack.
“Me, too,” Avery says to me.
Jack sighs and gathers up the pizza box as Avery and Anna retrieve the last two slices. “I guess I’m sleeping on the sofa.”
“Me, too.” Avery gives me a silly smile.
