Page 59 of A Pizza My Heart

I saw Wren’s naked ass, and I can’t stop replaying the moment in my mind.

The last thing I expected when I turned the corner was Wren’s perky cheeks staring me in the face. Thinking she would still be in the shower—because again, I spenta lotof time at the Daniels’ place when I was younger and I know her routine—I was going to bang on the door and hassle her about only having a tablespoon of peanut butter left—which, let’s face it, is an abomination.

I certainly didn’t anticipate seeing her full, round ass on display.

Well, partially on display. Unfortunately, the mat did a good job covering most of the goods, but the bottoms of her cheeks were poking out in the most tantalizing way.

I wanted to walk over and touch her, pull that stupid mat from her body and drink her in once and for all.

I even took a step toward her, my hands itching with want. Desperate to feel her soft skin under my fingertips. To drag my lips between her shoulder blades. To cup that sweet, sweet ass in my hands and feel how full and firm it is.

But—by some miracle—I pulled myself back and didn’t act like a complete fucking jackass.

I forced words from my mouth. Then I made small talk to keep my boner at bay.

It was painful, and also a little fun to see her all flustered.

Then she gotmeflustered, the way she enjoyed my eyes on her. I saw it in her baby blues. She was relishing it as much as I was.

Initially I thought,Good. About damn time we got on the same page.

Then she spouted off the shit about us fake dating and I just couldn’t help but laugh.

Right.Of coursethat’s what’s making her finally see what’s been right in front of her the entire time.

It wasn’tme; it was just theideaof having a someone.

Which is why I made sure to let her know I wasn’t going to fake date her. No way in hell was I doing that shit.

Pretendingto care.

Pretendingshe’s mine.

No.

Not anymore.

By the end of this little agreement of ours, Wren is going to knowexactlyhow I feel about her, and I’m either going to lose a friend or gain something even better.

I just hope the cards fall my way.

I glance at the fitness watch that’s strapped around my wrist. I’ve been plastered to Wren’s couch for just about an hour now. Her client was early, and I don’t think she minded one bit. Although it gave her less time for her own routine—not that she needs the makeup she wears or needs to spend half an hour on her own hair, but whatever—I think she was still grateful to get ahead of schedule a bit, especially with the Mike incident putting her behind this morning.

“Are you ready?”

She stands in the kitchen wielding a pair of trimming scissors, a smock slung around her body.

I notice immediately how different she looks in this moment compared to when she’s at Slice slinging pizza around.

Here—even while holding a pair of scissors—she looks calm and collected. At Slice, she seems to be in a permanent state of frenzy, which I assume has to do with the fact that she has to deal with strangers all day long.

You’d think since she works with strangers in both jobs it would be the same, but it’s not for her. Not even close.

She doesn’t have to tell me this; I know it.

I’ve known Wren long enough to know she’s full of quirks, and this is just another one.

She opens and closes the scissors again, the metal shears sliding against one another loudly.

---