Page 5 of False Start

"Denise? Do you…need something? Advil? Pepto, maybe?" No answer.

I drink my now lukewarm smoothie and pace the kitchen.Maybe I should call someone.

As soon as I have that thought, the door swings open, and Denise emerges. She's washed the makeup off her face and she looks…younger? Maybe not younger, but more innocent. Between that and the crying, I'm feeling strangely protective of this woman I've known barely ten minutes, half of which I was drunk.

"Sorry about that," she says, her brown cheeks pink with embarrassment. "I can be a bit of a weepy drunk."

"It's cool," I answer, concern thick in my voice. "Should I order a pizza or something to help settle your stomach? Hair of the Dog, perhaps?"

She drops her head into her hands.

"Oh my God. Youheardthat?"

I shrug.

"Throwing up after drinking too much is nothing to be embarrassed about. You just need a little grease in your stomach."

I can see her wheels turning. We just hooked up, and I'm supposed to be the enemy.

"Or you could risk throwing up on the train," I offer. "It's up to you."

She sighs and walks over to my couch, dropping onto the cushions with an unladylike plop.

"Bacon and pineapple, please. And buffalo wings."

I grin at the back of her head and pull out my phone to order.

Thirty minutes, an extra large pizza, and over a dozen wings later, and both of us are feeling more human. She's not tearing up anymore, at least. Aside from splitting up the delicious bounty when it arrived, neither of us has spoken much. The pounding in my head lessens with each bite, and I put on the Mets game to fill the silence.

She ate with gusto, taking multiple slices of pizza and licking her fingers after eating a particularly saucy wing. Since most of my dates order a garden salad with a side of water, her appetite is refreshing, though I know enough about women not to mention how much she eats. Not that this is a date, but—

"I should maybe leave my number," she mumbles around a bite of crust, cutting off my train of thought.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Isn't that going against the 'never come over again' plan we agreed to earlier?"

"It's not like that," she says, her cheeks flushing again. I suppress a smile. "If you find my necklace, like if you're cleaning or something, you need my number so I can come by and pick it up."

"Right." I hope she can't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"Also, with Maya and Adam together, we're going to run into each other from time to time. We might as well have each other's contact information for, you know…whatever."

Something about the uncertainty in her voice makes me less wary. Thank goodness I'm not the only person unsure of what to do in this situation.

"That makes sense."

After we trade phones and contact information, she stands up awkwardly.

"Well, thank you for the meal. I'm heading out. For real, this time."

My lips quirk, and I'm struck by the uncontrollable urge to get under her skin.

"Oh yeah? Sure you won't be by tomorrow looking for something else? An earring, perhaps? Maybe a hair tie? There's no shame in wanting another taste."

Irritation blazes behind her eyes and I realize now why I provoked her; she's hot when she's angry. She stomps to the door in a huff, swishing her ass with every step.

"Just call me if you find the necklace, OK?"

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