Page 113 of A Pizza My Heart

“Weird, I didn’t hear you complaining about my junk last night.”

She rolls her eyes. “Guy gets you off one time and it’s all he talks about.”

“One time? Count again, Birdie.”

“My math skills are just fine.”

“You telling me you faked the other two?”

“No, I’m just saying those weren’t all your victories. You had help.”

“But I still participated.”

She huffs. “Are we really going to argue about how many orgasms you gave me?”

“Yes! My pride is riding on this, woman.”

She lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Just go shower, Foster.”

“Fine, but this isn’t over.”

“Whatever you say.” Turning on her heel, she heads for the door. “There’s an extra toothbrush under the sink.”

“An extra? Who do you need an extra toothbrush for?”

“Oh.” She smirks devilishly. “All the other guys who can give me at least two orgasms…all by themselves.”

She flits away, leaving my ego bruised, my dick hard, and my lips grinning.

“You’re such a brat!” I shout after her.

“Quit complimenting me and go shower!”

Shaking my head, I gather my clothes from last night and make my way to the bathroom, double-checking that there’s a clean towel for me because I wouldn’t put it past her to leave me empty-handed on purpose.

Butt cheek for a butt cheek and all that.

I set the water temperature and slide in under the stream, loving the water pressure the second it hits my back. This shower is a massive improvement over Winston’s.

As I stand under the hot waterfall, my mind drifts to last night…and not just all the fun naughty parts.

She didn’t say it back.

I told her I loved her, and she didn’t say it back…again.

So lost in the moment, I didn’t realize it right away. It wasn’t until after our third—or was it fourth?—tumble in the sheets that it dawned on me that the words never left her mouth.

Every fiber of my being told me she felt the same, but I’ve been wrong before when it comes to her.

Back when I first confessed my feelings, I could have sworn she was feeling it too, that we were on the same page. The conversations we were having that night just felt so right.

Last night, her body felt right. Her response to my touch, her actions leading up to the night…every moment we’ve had together since we made the stupid fake date deal, since I told her how I felt…

It’s all felt authentic. Absolute.

Surely this hasn’t just all been pretend.

It can’t be.

---