Page 51 of Love Me Like It's Real
“Sorry,” Hayworth mouths instead and goes back to mixing the dough while the instructor waffles on about the best way to make pizza as if it’s rocket science and glaring at us as if expecting another interruption. Once we’re done with the yeast-free dough we move on to the tomato sauce.
“Wow. Everyone really does hate you, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t say hate. They just know I cause trouble.”
“Same difference. They’re acting like you murdered someone.”
“I did,” he answers and I snap my head round. “Love.”
I’m barely able to contain my laughter but I do my best. Especially when the couple in front of us turns to stare us down as if they’re better than us.
Even though we’re supposed to be on a mission here, I can’t help but stare back and once there are no eyes on us I lean closer to Hayworth. “Okay, these people are starting to piss me off.”
He lets out a long sigh before he says: “I told you. Loved-up people are insufferable.”
I nod as the instructor tells us it’s time to construct our pizza.
“Say, if you were here in aclubcapacity, what would you do?” I whisper the club part to avoid any prying ears but I don’t miss how Hayworth straightens at the mention.
“I thought you wanted to help me rebuild my image around here.” He narrows his eyes and I have to fight with myself not to roll my eyes at how much pride he’s filled with.
“Yeah well, they’re pissing me off and this is the most boring class ever,” I tell him.
His smile turns cheeky. “I have an idea,” he whispers and I watch him as he takes a bowl of olives and sprinkles them on the pizza with angry, sharp movements. “Yeah, but I like olives!” he says, louder and in an irritated tone.
“Okay.” I grimace.
“You can put peppers on your half!” he continues in the same manner and I don’t know what he’s doing but I follow his lead anyway.
“Well, I would if you kept your olives on your half,” I snap at him. The couple in front of us turn and I throw them an agitated: “What?”
“Is there a problem?” the instructor asks.
We shake our heads.
“No. Just a little disagreement on the ingredients,” Hayworth says.
The instructor stares at us for a few moments.
“Well, try and work together. This is supposed to bring you closer,” she says and walks away.
“Was that your brilliant plan?” I ask him.
“Oh here we go again,” he exclaims. “Trying to take control of the situation again.”
I narrow my eyes, glaring at him. “Are we having a domestic?” I whisper.
“Why not?” He shrugs and winks at me and I gasp.
“I’m not trying to control anything. I just want a pizza I also like. Is that too much to ask?”
Hayworth throws the fresh tomatoes onto the pizza with a sigh and turns away.
“Of course. Blame it on me, won’t you? It’s always my fault.”
I pick the tomatoes off and put sliced onions all over the pizza as if trying to prove a point before I say: “We said we’d each pick a half and you took all of it with your disgusting olives. Itisyour fault.”
Never mind, Iactuallylike olives.
