Page 8 of X's and O's
He got off me roughly, straightened his shirt, and with a final warning look, he left the room to open the door.
My muffled shouts would do no good. It was just wasting energy. The person at the door wouldn’t hear them. It was too far away.
I needed to get free.
Paul opened the door and it gave a protesting creak.
“Someone call for a pizza?”
A man. His voice only just loud enough for me to make out, but deep enough to tell me he wasn’t some teenager delivering pizza to make some extra cash after school. This guy had to be at least late twenties, if not older. Not that it mattered. I twisted my wrists, finding a tiny bit of give in the ropes around them.
“No,” Paul spit out. “Wrong address.”
“Paul Jeddersen. 1258 Olympic Drive?”
“That’s me, but I didn’t order the pizza.”
I yanked and twisted at my binds. The knot moved a tiny bit, loosening just enough to fill me with hope. I jerked them against the edge of the couch, trying to find some leverage to loosen them further.
The door squeaked as Paul went to close it.
My hope distinguished.
I wasn’t going to be quick enough.
I waited for the click of the door latch, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a thump I couldn’t identify. I strained my ears, trying to work out what was going on while continuing to fight with the ties around my wrists. If I could just get a hand free, I could easily take care of the rest.
“Is there anyone else here who might have ordered it?” the driver asked insistently.
“No,” Paul snapped. “There isn’t. That’s definitely not mine. I don’t even like pizza. I’m lactose intolerant.”
I hoped Paul shit his pants right then and there just from the smell of the cheese.
“Oh, damn. You are?” the driver asked casually. “That sucks so much. Cheese is the best. Like, it’s actually myfavorite thing in the world. But it gives you the farts, huh? Or the squirts?”
Despite the situation, I found myself amused. At least for a second.
Paul’s tone was full of confusion and irritation. “What?”
“Not eating dairy is a crime, Paul. One you just admitted you are guilty of.”
This was the weirdest pizza delivery I’d ever heard go down. My pizza guy just shoved the box at us, took our money, and left without a wave.
Paul spluttered, clearly flustered. “Like I told you, that pizza isn’t mine. Leave now or I’m calling the police.”
I practically snorted on a laugh. Wouldn’t that be interesting? For the cops to show up here while I was half naked, cut, bound, and gagged in his sitting room. I wondered how the hell he planned on explaining that one to them?
The door still didn’t close.
In fact, the driver’s voice got louder than ever, like maybe the door had been pushed wide open so now I could hear them better.
“Well, that’s rude,” the driver said, voice deep. “Isn’t that rude?”
I paused, trying to work out who he was talking to.
Another male voice, one I hadn’t heard yet, replied, “Very unhospitable.”
“Agreed. Aren’t you going to invite us in, Paul?”
