Page 18 of A Slice of Love

Even if I don’t know who she is, she definitely knows who I am.

I guess that’s what happens when you have an amazing college football career, so great that you’re headed for the NFL when you graduate, and then when you’re high on winning a bowl game, you jump onto the railing of the bleachers and…fall straight on your ass. Or, in my case, directly on your knee in just the right way to put you out of commission, shattering and tearing not only it but all your NFL dreams, leaving you to deliver pizzas in your hometown while you work on physical therapy.

It’s been a long six months.

Clearing my throat, I push my shoulders back. “Good evening. I have a large pepperoni and extra cheese on hand-tossed crust with two ranch dipping sauces.” I slide the pizza out with ease and shove it her way. “That’ll be $10.47.”

She doesn’t take the pie.

“I’m not imagining this. You are Jonas Schwartz, right?”

I sigh, slightly annoyed the ball cap I’m wearing and the beard I grew aren’t enough to hide behind. “I am. Have we met before?”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Nice to see ya, Schwartzy.”

The guy steps into view, and I recognize him instantly. Despite having attended the same college, I haven’t had a proper conversation with the guy since my freshman year when I got wasted and told him about what happened with Frankie.

I’ve seen him around campus a few times since, but he mostly hung out with the theater kids, which definitely wasn’t the crowd I was running with.

“Well fucking well,” I drawl. “Julian Schenn. How the hell are you, man?”

“Not bad, not bad. Helping my girl here put together her bookshelf. She can’t seem to understand you have to put the screws all the way in and not just leave them sticking out.”

Ah, so that’s what go deeper meant.

The girl stares daggers at him, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up.Stop noticing, you dick.

“First, I amnotyour girl. Second, I was going as deep as I could.”

“Sure you were. You just gotta put a little more muscle behind it, that’s all.”

She holds her arm up, flexing her bicep. “You see these guns? I was puttingallthe muscle into it.”

He squeezes her nonexistent guns. “You’re still using that two-pound weight, huh? Need a spotter next time you hit the gym?”

She socks him in the gut, and I can’t help but laugh as he grunts.

She might not have muscles, but she can apparently pack a punch.

“I yield,” he wheezes. “Schwartz, you remember Callahan, right?”

Callahan?There’s only one Callahan I’ve ever known, and there is no way this chick standing in front of me is her.

It’s impossible…right?

But my eyes see the undeniable truth.

Right there, just below her left eye, is the scar I remember so fondly.

Itisher.

“Frank.”

Her cheeks redden at the nickname I gave her in high school, and my palms begin to sweat in response to the reality of being face to face with her.

For four long years, I looked for her, scouring social media. Checking every face at every party, hoping she’d appear. We were set to attend the same college, but not once did we run into each other.

Turns out, I wasn’t looking for the girl I knew at all.

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