Page 15 of A Pizza My Heart

“Where the hell has Wren been hiding you?”

“Stop scaring him, Drew.”

“But why? Scaring men is my favorite pastime.”

“Drew…”

“Fine,” she surrenders. “You just enjoy your impromptu lunch date and I’ll pick up the slack around here, because apparently you Daniels kids are lazy little shits.” Drew turns to me and gives me a sweet smile. “Look, Foster, if it doesn’t work out with Chadwick, I’ll hit you up. I don’t care if you do have a sad, old dick.”

“Goddammit, Drew.” Wren shakes with laughter. “Get out of here. And bring me some ranch for these onion rings.”

“No way. That order specifically saidnodressing no matter what. You’re already getting a bonus break—no special requests from you.”

She rushes away before anyone can fight her on it.

“What kind of monster orders a salad with no dressing?” Wren frowns at her dry salad then reaches across the table and plucks the cup of ketchup my basket of chicken fingers came with from my plate, claiming it as her own.

“I should have taken that as a sign the date wasn’t going to work out.”

“You really should have. Or, you know, maybe the fact that you picked her up on LustStruck.”

“Are you finished with the teasing?”

“No. And quit acting like you hate it.”

I grin and pop a few fries into my mouth as she picks all the toppings off her salad, mainly the cheese, ignoring the leafy greens entirely.

When I first met the Daniels twins, I was intrigued—not just because they were complete and total opposites but got along like they had everything in common, but because they were so uniquely them.

Winston didn’t give a shit about labels. He was a jock, a stoner, a nerd, and homecoming king.

And Wren was…well, Wren. She refused to touch door handles, wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that matched, and told everyone who would listen that she didn’t believe in vegetables or their “fake-ass powers”.

As much as I loved Winston as a brother, I couldn’t ever help but feel a special attraction toward Wren. I don’t know if it was her infectious I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude or what, but she always made me feel so…well,mewhen I was around her.

That was something I didn’t feel with anyone else.

“What?”

I blink at the sudden interruption.

“What?” I parrot stupidly.

Wren’s brows slash together. “You’re staring, Foster.”

Shit. I was.

I lift a shoulder, trying to play it cool. “Well, youarescarfing down those onion rings like a competitive food eater. It’s fascinating, especially for someone who is staunchly against vegetables.”

“They’refriedvegetables.” She dips the greasy ring into the ketchup and takes a bite, not caring at all when she speaks with a full mouth. “They don’t count.”

“I see your manners haven’t improved.”

“You were practically family. I don’t have to use manners around you.”

Her words sting for more than one reason: her use of past tenseandthe dreaded F word—family.

Family.

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