Page 33 of A Pizza My Heart

Instead, I watch with rapt attention as her azure eyes blaze to life with that familiar spark of spunk and she twists her pretty, plump lips together, pursing them in displeasure.

“I meant does he know this Mike—and we’ll come back to that name later—is your best friend and not him.”

I grin because Iknewit was going to be something. “Oh, I’m certain he’s discerned it by now.”

“Who the hell says words like discerned? Is that all the fancy from Cali coming through?”

“It could be.” I lean a little closer, and I can’t help but notice the way she holds her breath as soon as I inch farther into her space. “Why are we still whispering?”

She chews on the edge of her lips, trying to hide the grin that’s threatening to overtake them, thinking this over for a moment before spouting off, “Because you’re a dumbass.”

I fall into a fit of laughter, leaning back in my chair before I do something a real dumbass would do—like kiss her.

This time she lets her grin through, proud of herself for her remark.

“Anyway,” she says at a normal volume, “you brought up your dog and—”

“She said she’d much rather have a cat, which is absolutely fucking absurd if you ask me. A cat over a dog? Acat? That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m best friends with your brother, so I’ve heard some asinine shit before. Can you belie—” I stop short. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She’s sitting there, lips pulled back into a satisfied smirk, looking pleased as punch, as if she just won a thousand bucks on a one-dollar scratcher.

“What? What’d I say now? I was explaining why a dog ismuchbetter than a cat. It’s a simple statement, really. It’s—”

I pause.

Oh fuck.

Is this what I did on the date? Did I go on a rant about cats and dogs?

Oh god, I did.

How long did it last?

“It lasted fifteen minutes, by the way,” she tells me, answering my unspoken question like she’s in my head.

I grimace, sinking lower into my chair, defeat and embarrassment weighing heavily on me. “Goddammit.”

“Yep.” She’s trying to hold back that smile. “So, Foster, now that you know about four of your strikes, wanna take a stab at that scale again?”

“A two. A measly fucking two—and that’sifI’m lucky.”

I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air. I was really hoping things with Brooke had gone well enough to try a second date, was hoping maybe—just maybe—I wouldn’t have to go on a fourth first date this week.

But I should have known better. I’ve been out of the dating game for way too long. There was no way I was going to be able to jump into this headfirst like I did and succeed.

Wren’s right—Iama dumbass.

“Date four?” she asks.

“Date four.”

“Give me your phone.”

I narrow my eyes at her but slide it from my pocket at her request, though I don’t hand it over.

“Why?” I question, holding my phone captive because I don’t quite trust her motives yet.

She stares at me, blinking a few times.

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