Page 63 of A Pizza My Heart

Working to relax, though it’s hard whenever Layla is involved, I loosen my grip on the armrests.

I drive my focus toward Wren’s hands, which are still playing their way through my hair. They feel like fucking magic, and I want to stay in this chair forever.

“That’s better,” she hums. “I’ll be done in a jiffy.”

“Stop saying that shit.Jiffy.”

I test the word out on my tongue and am rewarded when her attention is drawn to me in the mirror.

I want to test something else out…I roll my tongue over my lips, and her body tightens with intrigue.

I can work with intrigue.

“It makes me want peanut butter and you’re out,” I continue like I’ve done nothing wrong.

Her stare snaps to mine and now it’s her turn to pretend. “Only because you ate it all.”

“It wasn’t me. It was Mike.”

“You fed your dogmypeanut butter?!”

“What else was I supposed to feed him? It’s not like you have dog treats lying around.”

At the magic word, Mike whimpers from his spot by the door then pads over to my chair, waiting patiently by my side for what was inadvertently offered.

“I do so. You just didn’t ask.”

She marches off, determined to prove me wrong. I miss the warmth of her fingers the moment she takes them away. I sag in defeat as the emptiness settles back in.

Beside me, Blythe sniggers again, and I send her a look.

In response, she raises her slender shoulder and pretends to zip her lips shut.

Moments later, Wren returns with a white jar labeled with the image of a bone and screws off the lid, handing a brown treat to Mike, who’s wagging his tail like he’s never seen a treat before.

She sets the jar down and returns to cutting my hair like this is an everyday occurrence.

Her fingers massage my scalp again, and I lift my brow. She catches the movement in the mirror, shrugging.

“What? Customers bring their dogs sometimes. I like to be prepared.”

As ifhewants to prove me wrong too, Mike then makes his way over by the door where the treats came from, and I hear him slurping away at the water bowl Wren must have stashed over there.

“Traitor,” I shout at him, and Wren laughs.

I love watching her laugh.

She’s never been one to do the cutesy laugh thing. It’s an honest sound, not girly or dainty or any of that crap.

A real, honest laugh.

Loud. Unattractive. Borderline obnoxious. All Wren.

I shift in my chair, trying to will away the half-hard dick I have, which is absurd because all she did was fucking laugh.

“I’m almost done,” she tells me, likely thinking the shifting is due to discomfort from being in the chair.

She’s so far from the truth.

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