Page 84 of Mr. Wicked

And as I watched him, as I really took him in the same way he was observing me, I realized why he wanted me in a bra.

That man was turned on.

I had a feeling that he hadn’t joined me in the kitchen or offered to get me any pizza because he didn’t want me to see his hard-on.

I loved that thought.

It even made me smile.

Once I reached the kitchen, there were three pizza boxes on the island, a quantity I found odd given that there were only two of us. I lifted the lids, and inside were a plain cheese, a veggie, and a pepperoni.

Since the kitchen was completely open to the living room, I turned around to face him.

I was surprised that his stare hadn’t left me.

It was just lower now, like it had been on my ass while I was looking at the food.

But it was rising and finally locked with mine.

Still smiling, I asked, “Are you expecting more people?”

“No.”

“Do you just like a wide variety of toppings then?”

He lifted his beer, which had been sitting on a small end table beside him, and took a drink. “I didn’t know what kind of pizza you liked. I guessed it would be one of the three.”

“You could have asked.”

“Jovana”—he shook his head before taking another drink—“I’m not a fucking moron. I tried to ask you, but your bedroom door was locked.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah . . . oh.”

I glanced down at the open boxes. “Let me guess, pepperoni for you?”

“Veggie.”

I laughed. “Veggie?”

“Don’t sound surprised that I like vegetables on my pizza. There’s no better combo on a pie than mushrooms and onions. At least in my opinion.”

“I’m laughing because I agree. Nothing beats that combo, it’s my fave.” I went on the hunt for plates, checking the cabinets next to the fridge and sink, and when I finally found them, I grabbed two. “But I’m down for a slice of pepperoni here and there.” I placed two pieces on his plate, two on mine, and opened the fridge, scanning the doors until I found the section where he kept his dressing. His ranch came in a jar, so I searched the drawers until I located the silverware and scooped some of the dressing onto my plate. I grabbed a beer as well, along with some napkins, and returned to the couch.

As I handed him his pizza, he was eyeing mine and asked, “What’s the blob of white on your plate?”

“Ranch.”

“You put dressing on your pizza?”

“I dip my pizza in it, yes.”

“Who the fuck does that?”

“Ummm, me.” I laughed again, and when I chose seats, I picked a spot closer to him this time, so only a square cushion separated us. “Sloane’s family is originally from Upstate New York. Apparently, that’s what they do there. I don’t know, but she introduced me to it and now I’m hooked.” I picked up my pizza, dipped the side, and took a bite. “She uses blue cheese, but the smell makes me gaggy. I’m Team Ranch all the way.” I held my plate toward him. “Here, try it.”

“No.”

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