Page 35 of A Pizza My Heart

This one stuck out to me because of her bio.

Dogs > Cats. Pineapple DOES belong on pizza. My favorite color is glitter.

And that was it. It said nothing and everything all at once.

She knows what she likes, she isn’t afraid of judgment, and she’s all about fun. She sounded exactly like what Foster needs.

I watch as they throw their heads back in laughter, and something heavy settles in the pit of my stomach.

I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but seeing them together…laughing, bonding…it makes me feel icky.

I turn my attention back to what I’m doing, watching the amber liquid of the soda fill the white plastic cup.

“Wow. They have mega chemistry,” Drew comments.

My eyes snap to them again, curiosity and dread filling me all at once.

What the hell is wrong with me? I was just patting myself on the back for setting them up and now I can’t even stand to look at them?

I push the icky aside. It’s nothing, I’m sure. I’m just cranky and utterly exhausted. I promised my father at the beginning of summer I’d cover all these crazy shifts, some of them doubles, and I’d work my hair appointments in around everything. That meant me getting up at six this morning to go do a cut and colorafterclosing last night.

I’m wiped.

“They’re totally going to end up banging. I can tell. He just told a joke, and she thinks he’s funny,” Drew commentates. “Oh my gosh, yeah, totally gonna bang. Look at the way she slides her hair behind her ear, all slow and sexy.”

“She should just put her hair up. Why keep pushing it away if you can just put it up? That’s so stupid.”

“Because she’s trying to flirt, duh.”

“She needs to find a better way then. Ugh. Look at the way she’s leaning across the table into him. Like give the man some space, gosh.”

I hear it.

Drew hears it.

She turns toward me, and I refuse to look at her.

“Wren?”

“Nope.”

“Wren Amanda Daniels.”

I keep my eyes on the cup I’m holding, willing the soda machine to dispense faster. “I said no, Drew Amanda Woods.”

“You can’t just use your middle name as my middle name.”

“I can if you refuse to tell me yours.”

“If I promise to tell you my middle name, will you look at me and discuss this?”

I chew on this proposition for a moment. I’ve been trying to get a peek at Drew’s middle name foryearsnow, but she keeps it locked up tight. It must be something really embarrassing to warrant the lengths she’s gone to keeping it from me. Her offer is tempting.

But it’s not enough.

“Pass.”

“Your eyes are green, same color as your man’s out there.”

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