Rachel plops down next to me, and her soft, sweet scent wafts across the narrow space between us, overpowering even the smell of the pizza and making my cock twitch.
So much for getting over her.
My conversation with Mom this morning didn’t help anything. I can’t get what she said out of my head. You should marry your best friend. I glance at Rachel out of the corner of my eye. She flips open the box, and I lean over to grab a slice of pizza.
I scowl at it and scrunch up my nose. “Really? Veggie lover’s?”
Her shoulder rises and falls. “It’s good.” Her words are barely discernable around a glob of pizza, yet even talking with her mouthful, she’s cute as fuck.
I grin at her. “You know, if it had meat on it and zero vegetables, it would be good. It’s called a meat lover’s pizza.”
This argument never gets old or less funny. Even after five years of disagreement over pizza toppings, neither of us will ever change what we like, and we’ll both suffer through eating each other’s favorites whenever a piece is offered.
She laughs around her second bite. “If you don’t like it”—she shrugs and sits back against the couch—“don’t have any more.”
“I’ll eat it.” I point a finger at her and try to restrain my smile. “Reluctantly.”
She nods and waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I knew you would. When have you ever turned down pizza, or any food, for that matter?”
It’s true. I never turn down a meal. Especially with her.
“You don’t need to remind me how chubby I’m getting.”
Her laugh floats over to me. “Yeah, right, Mr. Abs. So chubby.”
The woman has no idea what it takes to stay in this shape and still eat the way I do. My early morning runs and daily workouts before she’s even out of bed are worth it, though, to be able to enjoy a couple of greasy slices—even if they are covered with vegetables instead of delicious meats—and still be able to appear in prime shape as HRD4U.
She points toward the television. “What did you put on?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Why don’t we watch that movie on Webflix. That one everyone’s been talking about with the zombies.”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Really? You want to watch a zombie movie?”
Typically, she’s trying to talk me into some chick flick while I’m trying to convince her an action flick would be better.
She smiles and nods. “Yeah, blood and guts and the undead sound perfect for a Sunday evening.”
“Okay.” Not exactly my idea of good entertainment, but if it’s what she wants, I have a hard time saying no to Rachel about anything. “Whatever you want.”
I find the movie on Webflix, select start, and reach for a slice of pizza. Rachel grabs for the same slice, and our fingers brush. A little jolt shoots up my arm, and I freeze. But she doesn’t seem to feel it.
She brushes my hand away with a laugh. “Hands off. That’s my slice.”
I grab a different one, sit back, and peek over at her—seemingly unaffected by the slight contact the way I was. Maybe because she hasn’t spent the entire day obsessing over me the way I have been her.
How do I bring this up casually?
It’s been plaguing me since the moment I opened my eyes this morning. The question I can’t figure out how to voice. The potential answer I might not want to know.
I swallow my bite and try to keep my eyes focused on the innocent woman who will clearly be a zombie victim on the screen so I don’t have to watch Rachel’s response. But my eyes drift over to her again anyway. “So? You had your date with Dan last night, right?”
She freezes with the pizza halfway up to her mouth, coughs, and nods slowly. “Yeah, I did.”
“What’s with that reaction?”
Her eyes flick over to mine. “What reaction?”