Page 7 of Wanted Beta

By the time I get to my final slice, Catherine’s just sitting down with a plateful of roasted vegetables and some hideous looking noodles.

“What are those?” I ask, thinking they look like they’re made of plastic.

“Calorie free noodles,” she admits, stealing an envious glance at my final slice.

“Carbs aren’t a crime,” I tell her, offering my last slice up because I can’t stand to watch her eat this sorry nothing of a meal.

She shakes her head. “Try saying that when you get past thirty and your metabolism changes. I don’t eat like this for fun.”

“Is one slice of pizza going to kill you?” I ask.

She laughs. “No, but it’ll make my pants tight and then I’ll have to buy new clothes and I’ll think it’s okay to keep eating pizza, and then it becomes a whole vicious cycle.”

I shrug, then I start devouring my final slice.

If I’ve got limited years of eating junk food like there’s no tomorrow, then I should use them to enjoy my life as much as possible, before I have to consider eating plastic noodles and lightly seasoned vegetables for every meal.

I close the pizza box when I’m done, and I glance at the logo on the front.

Esposito Brothers’ Taste of Italy.

The cartoon graphic is a cute picture of two guys – one spinning pizza dough, and the other with the finished product on a tray.

“I’m guessing you liked it?” Catherine asks.

“It was pretty damn good,” I admit. “Your neighbor has decent taste.”

“Well, the restaurant is just around the corner if you ever want more.”

That’s good to know. I thought I’d tried out most of the closest restaurants to college, but I guess if this one is new, I’ll need to check it out in person when I have a chance.

I just won’t be hitting on any of the waiters at this place.

I’m so beyond done with guys and dating.

“How are you feeling?” Catherine’s gaze is on me when I look up.

There’s a hint of worry in her dark eyes.

“Me? I just had pizza, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

“You know what I mean, Beth. What happened to you … It was awful. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, shrugging. “It’s not like he actually hurt me.”

“It’s still …” She lets out a sigh. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m always here. Okay?”

“Of course you’re always here. You’re a shut-in. You never leave the apartment.”

She snorts and shakes her head at me. “God! I forgot you do this. Everything’s funny to you.”

I shrug. “I prefer not to take life too seriously. It gets in the way of having fun.”

“Well, there’s something in that, for sure. Just, don’t repress what you’re feeling, okay? It’s not healthy. It’ll just come out in other ways.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” I reassure her. “It’s not like I nearly died or anything. I didn’t even ruin my jeans.”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Your jeans?”

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