Page 21 of Just a Friend for the Lion

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And then I freeze.

Carter Leone.

Six large meat lovers’ pies.

Two grandma pies.

One tray of garlic knots.

One tray of chicken parmigiana.

Six Caesar salads (bold of him to think I wouldn’t notice the attempt at balance).

Pick-up. Under his name. Every week. For Pizza Thursdays, apparently.

My heart does that annoying fluttery thing it really needs to stop doing.

Because what the hell?

We exchanged, like, three words.

He ate a pizza.

Almost fell over his own feet.

Then bolted like he was allergic to marinara.

But that’s not even the worst thing.

Nope. That happened after.

Like when I got home, and I stupidly finished my profile for Date to Mate.

It took about twelve hoursfor the algorithm to calibrate or Uncle Uzzi’s magic to work, then I heard it the next day—ping!

Date to Mate App

You’ve got a match!

So, I sent him a message telling him I was excited to meet up.

And what did I hear?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Freaking crickets.

I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but how could I not?

I should be over it. Over him.The match that never was.

Except he’s back.

Well, not yet, but he’s coming. In person. To pick up this order.

And now I’m internally spiraling.

I grab a clean towel and start wiping down a counter that’s already clean.

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