Page 19 of Just a Friend for the Lion
The algorithm has spoken. A match has been made. Are you ready to meet your fate?
I stared at it for all of two seconds.
Then I locked my phone, tossed it face-down on the workbench, and went back to detailing the stretch Escalade.
Because no.
Fuck no.
I am not ready.
I was never ready.
I didn’t even want the app in the first place.
I only downloaded it to shut Uncle Uzzi up and prove that just because I could, didn’t mean I would.
Besides, even without looking, I knew exactly who thematchwas.
How many curly-haired pizza goddesses could one neighborhood hold?
So yeah, I ignored it.
For a week.
I busied myself with fleet check-ins, new hire interviews, route maps, and polishing every surface insideLion Limousines & Livery Serviceuntil my knuckles ached.
But the craving started anyway.
First, it was just a whisper.
The idea of pizza.
Then it was a hunger.
A full-bodied, claws-out need.
And I told myself it was normal. It’s pizza.
Pizza is universal.
It’s practically a food group in Jersey.
It had nothing to do with warm brown eyes orteasing smirks or the way MJ’s hips swayed like she was born to ruin men.
Then came Thursday.
“Yo, boss,” Tony, a thick-necked Gorilla Shifter said, leaning in my office door, “We were thinking we should start a pizza night. Like every Thursday. You know, team-building. Tradition. Fuel. Garlic knots. And Pizza Girls has the best!”
My inner Lion perked up.
A few of the other drivers behind him nodded like this was a sacred rite.
I didn’t argue. Couldn’t. They were right.
Pizza made people happy.
And me? I was the picture of chill.
