Page 63 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

My eyes dart over his face. Never has a guy passed up an opportunity for me to be sexual for them, and now here’s Joel wanting to spend time with me—the real me—real name and all.

“Are you okay?” he asks in my silence.

“Yeah . . . yeah, I—of course.”

“Come on, pizza’s on me, but I have to warn you . . . if you tell me pineapple on pizza is delightful, I might be devastated.”

I breathe out a laugh. “Who would say something so ludicrous?”

“A psychopath, clearly.”

He steers me over to the booths in the back, where we sit and order a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza and two Cokes. I lean on my hand while we wait for our food, studying him closely.

“What?”

“How did you guess my name?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m super smart, can’t you tell? Practically Sherlock Holmes.”

I roll my eyes, and he sighs.

“Okay, fine. I cheated. I saw a piece of mail on your kitchen counter when I was fixing the window.”

My mouth drops open. “What? You’ve known my name since then? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wantedyouto tell me, or at least be comfortable enough where I’d learn it and you wouldn’t get freaked out.”

“Joel—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . it was just there.”

I grasp his hand across the table. “No, it’s fine. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For respecting my privacy—or at least trying to.”

He grins again, his eyes crinkling at the corners beautifully. “You’re welcome. Besides, I learned a lot about you from that little game. I have no regrets.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks, but I hide it behind my soda can. Am I going crazy? Is this really happening? Is this guy actually trying to win over my heart instead of just taking me to bed? And after everything I’ve told him?

But the way he’s looking at me now, head resting on his fist, his free hand wrapped around mine. The subtle stroke of his thumb on my skin. Maybe this isreal.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “After pizza, do you think I could take you somewhere?”

He sits up a little straighter in the booth. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Is it far?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s actually close to the laundromat, but . . . it’s a tiny bit . . . illegal.”

“That settles it. I’m definitely intrigued.”

A bored-looking server sets down our pizza, grease from the pepperoni oozing off the plate. It looks incredible. I smile and grab a slice, waiting on him before taking a bite. He holds his slice out to me and we cheers the cheesy goodness together.

“To hopefullynotgetting arrested.”

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