Page 74 of Falling for Autumn Again

I also decide my bedroom is the exact place I want to be. No reason to leave. I prop myself up on my bed, shirtless—because I know it makes Autumn squirm. Then, I lean against the headboard behind me and cross my flannel pants at the ankles. Holding the remote out, I turn up the sound on my TV and pretend to watch the game.

I like the Giants. I became a fan years ago when I first moved to New York. I’m pretty sure they’ve gotten worse each and every year, so I can’t say I’m too into the game. But I am pretty into the girl hiding in my closet.

For the first time, I notice the set of purple sheets on the edge of my bed.

It never occurred to me why Autumn might have come over—just that she did. That she’s here. Sure, she broke into my house and she’s currently hiding in my closet, but I don’t care. She’s here.

In fact, what else can I do to get under Autumn’s skin? Who needs a dinner date? This sounds like a great game.

Aww—I snag my phone and look up the number for Poppy’s Pizza, Autumn’s least favorite place in town. I hit speaker and upthe volume on my cell, making sure my guest can hear the conversation.

“Poppy’s Pizza, this is Spence. What can I do to make your day pop, pop, pop?”

Huh, they’re still saying that. Autumn said she always felt like she was ordering a slew of zits rather than a pizza.

“Yeah. I would love to have thebestpizza in town delivered to my door,” I say. Maybe my enthusiasm is a little thick, but I’ve got to make sure she hears me.

There’s a smalleepfrom my closet, but I ignore it like it didn’t even happen. Nah, the Giants game is way too loud for me to hear anything else.

The kid on the line goes quiet. “Um… did you want the number for Cesare’s Pizza Pies?”

I smirk—even this kid knows how lousy Poppy’s is. “Ah, no. I’d like some Poppy’s delivered.”

“Oh,” he says, but his tone tells me he is confused.

“Yeah, can you give me all the fruits you have and just pile them on?”

“All thefruits?” Spence clearly needs to be washing dishes. Filling orders isn’t his super skill.

“Yeah, you know pineapple”—Autumn hates pineapple on pizza— “and tomatoes. And anything else you got.”

“Like apples?” Spence asks.

I smirk and give one small glance to my closet. “Do you have apples?”

“No.”

I blink. You’re killing me, Spence. “Then no. Just whichever fruits you have.”

“Large, medium, family-sized—”

“Large—and bring me all the diet soda you have.” I hold in my laugh. Autumn always said drinking diet soda is like drinking gasoline.

“Like, all of it? There’s quite a bit in the cooler. I can see six Diet Cokes from here.”

“Like one of every flavor,” I say, wishing Spence would stop messing with me as I mess with Autumn.

“Oh. Okay. That would be Diet Coke. Just the one flavor.”

“Fine. That’s fine. Bring me a couple of those.” I give Spence my address with little to no confidence that it’ll actually make it to me, but hey, at least Autumn heard the whole conversation.

Next up: reality TV. I switch channels until I find a house full of women being bleeped every ten seconds for their foul mouths. One screams and yells at the other for stealing her hairdresser.

It’s weird. It’s also going to make Autumn’s skin crawl.

I turn up the volume two notches just to make sure she doesn’t miss a beat.

There’s a small groan from within my closet, but I can’t hear it. Julia just threatened to cut off all of Angela’s hair in the night. I hear nothing else. It takes everything in me, but I watch until the end of the episode—another fifteen minutes.

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