Page 88 of Nemesis

“I may have spun it to be payment for saving your asses.” His green eyes soften. “But really, I just wanted an excuse to be invited up to your condo again.”

Oh.

My mouth is dry, and I should have a witty comeback. But the only thing I can muster is, “I like pizza.”

He smirks. “Who doesn’t?”

“Psychopaths.” I smile. “Saint probably doesn’t like pizza.”

“Is he a psychopath?”

“Pretty close to one.”

He laughs. But he doesn’t know the full story, so I just sit back and try to blink away the sleep. Now that he mentioned Saint being inside, I can see the back of Saint’s head inside at the counter. He collects boxes and exits, rounding the hood of the truck with three pizzas.

My stomach growls loud enough for both of them to hear.

Reese cracks a smile. Saint remains straight-faced, although he looks for a moment like he’s about to put the boxes on my lap. And then he sees my skin and thinks better of it.

At least he has some sense.

Reese backs out of the space, and I lean into Saint. I ignore the way he tenses and crack open the top box.

Cheese, pepperoni, and spinach. I don’t know who remembers my favorite pizza, but I don’t question it. I take a slice.

Saint scowls. “Wait?—”

“Can’t,” I interrupt, shoving the tip into my mouth. It’s hot, but I chew and swallow quickly. And then blow on the cheesy goodness before I try that again.

I can almost forget that I’m sandwiched between two guys I don’t particularly like.

Pizza makes everything better.

By the time my slice is finished, Reese has pulled his truck into my building’s parking garage and killed the engine.

Saint hops out with the boxes.

Reese glances at me, raising his eyebrows. I take my time licking my fingers, and he groans under his breath.

Huh.

I mirror his expression.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “You coming?”

I take his offered hand with my clean one, and he helps me down.

Let’s just be clear about something, though. I don’tneedhelp getting out of a truck. But it’s nice to not be left in the dust.Cough, Saint, cough. To have someone actually care.

But it is weird that it’s Reese Avery.

“I’m glad you called,” he says in a low voice.

Saint is already at the elevator, waiting with his back to us.

“I didn’t know who else to ask.” I squeeze his fingers and then release. My fear-slash-nausea at being in close proximity to Reese has abated… for now. But not knowing who else to ask isn’t exactly a compliment.

It just means there were literally no other takers.

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