Page 12 of Never Yours

“I know. Text me with your toppings, and I’ll be by in a bit.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me. We hang up, and I wait for a few minutes to order from my buddy’s restaurant that opened two weeks ago. When I don’t have a text from her, I call in an order for a large pizza with pineapple, even if it makes me cringe. Before I drive, I check my texts, and since I still don't have her topping preferences, I text her, hoping she’s not asleep.

You’re getting anchovies.

Sorry, I was distracted. Your dad came by to pick up his tools.

Pineapple, please.

I can’t help but smile that I had it right. Though the fact that Pop came by has me typing again.

Tools? He left them in my truck last night.

I drive to the restaurant, and when I check my phone, I find two missed texts.

He came by earlier to install a porch swing and left his ratchet set or something.

Please tell me you didn’t get anchovies…

I laugh to myself, and before I go inside, I reply.

Extra, just my half.

Asshole.

I wait a moment, and another text comes in.

Shit, I’m kidding!

Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I feel it vibrate a few times. I should answer and reassure her I’m not upset that she called me that, but the pizza is ready, and I want to get on the road. I grab the pizza box and drive to her place. Not wanting to text and drive, as soon as I’m outside the house, I take out my phone.

I’m sorry. I was kidding.

Seriously, Cay?

Shit.

I’m outside.

I try calling, but she doesn’t answer, so I make my way to the front door, pizza in hand. I knock three times and hear her footsteps approach. When she opens the door, I’m left speechless—she’s even more beautiful than last night. Even wearing leggings and an oversized shirt, she’s absolutely stunning. Gripping the back of my neck, I sigh, “You know, you need to stop apologizing when someone else is being a dick.”

Her eyes roam my body, landing on my cock before they snap back up to my face. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Was she checking me out?

“Stop apologizing when someone else is to blame. What you sent was funny, I was just on the road and don’t check my messages when I’m driving.”

She hums. “Force of habit, I guess.”

Ingrid gestures for me to come in, and I make my way to the kitchen island to set down the pizza. When I turn to face her, it takes me a moment, but I notice her hair isn’t the usual dark auburn; more of a rich, chocolate brown.

She touches her tied-up hair and offers a sheepish smile. “I needed a change.”

I take a step closer, desperate to touch her, hold her… anything she’ll afford me. Instead, I fight back the urge and stuff my hands in my pockets. “As long as you like it, that’s all that matters.” She glances over at the pizza box. “No anchovies, promise.”

She bites her lip and lifts the lid, finding the whole pizza is pineapple. “What are you going to eat?”

I stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the pizza I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Resisting the obvious flirtatious response, I whisper, “I think I’ll manage.”

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