I’ve spent my whole life being the fun one, the easy one, the guy everyone wants at their party. I recognize the act.
The grin comes before I can stop it, and she rewards me with a genuine smile that makes me lean onto the table, fascinated. My fingers ache to touch her again. I’ve pushed aside the hazy memory of that ride home from the hospital, but we’re so close now.
“Everything?” I whisper.
Izzy rolls her eyes. “It’s kind of like my superpower.”
I pull myself away, flashing a crooked grin. “Like being humble?”
She chooses that moment to sip her Slurpee, but I still catch the way her shoulders relax a bit.
“I need a real answer, Izzy.”
She sets down her drink and reaches for another piece of pizza before peeking up at me beneath long, black lashes. “Fine, I wish I were better at public speaking. I turn into a big pile of nervous goo every time I have to host an event at the store.”
“But you do it anyway?”
“Always. Being scared means you’re living.”
She jumped at public speaking too quickly to believe her. “Are you scared to date me?”
“We’re pretending,” she deadpans. “But no, I’m not scared. I don’t love all the extra attention though. The videos, the… comments.”
“Me neither.” The confession slips out of me before I can stop it.
“I just…” She runs her fingers over the embroidered signatures on her tablecloth, a sad smile stretching across her face. Her hair falls in a way that perfectly frames her cheeks, and I think, however foolishly, how it would feel to cup her face in my palms and kiss her. “I want to be loved loudly. I don’t want to beg for it anymore, however silly that is.”
“It’s not.”
“Hmm.” Izzy draws her knee up to her chest, wraps her arm around it, and takes another draining sip of her Slurpee, studying me. Finally, her words sharp and careful, she asks, “Scared of me or the attention?”
It’s another test, and maybe if I weren’t so aware of how easily she could push me away, I would play. Instead, I ask if she’s done with the pizza before I close the box up.
There’s a lot I’m not willing to unpack right now. “I only know what you’ve let me know. If anyone’s going to buy that we’re dating, I need more than your name and what you do.”
“My birthday is in April.” Before I can even laugh at how little she’s given me, she holds her hand up and continues, “I’m proud of the bookstore.”
“You should be.”
“Then what kind of details do you think will sell this? Favorite pizza topping?”
I hate how cute she is when she gets annoyed.
“Listen, we both know the bar is basically on the ground here. If I show up knowing your coffee order, people will be impressed. I think we can do better than pizza toppings though.”
“Who said anything about me tolerating the bar being on the floor, Jack?”
She shakes the last of her Slurpee, digging out the remaining iceberg of cherry-flavored ice with her straw before setting it aside.
I grin, stand, and grab a ginger ale from the fridge. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
I hand her one, then tuck the pizza box into the nearly empty fridge. “Good thing I stopped by. Shelves are a bit bare.”
“I haven’t had the time to shop.”
When I spin back around, I rest against the fridge and take a sip of soda. Fuck, I’d kill for a beer, but even I know that’s a bad idea right now. “What is your favorite pizza topping?”
