Page 72 of A Pizza My Heart

Foster:What if I promise to scrub with steel wool before our date?

Me:Only if you can prove it.

Foster:Did you just ask for pics of me naked in the shower?

Me:Good job horribly reading between the lines.

Me:*adds “skill” to Things To Teach Foster During Our Dates list*

Foster:You have a list?!

Me:*shrugs* Guess we’ll see, huh?

Foster:At least tell me how many things are on this list of yours.

Me:Gotta run. Need to get fancy. I have a hot date tonight.

Foster:Ha! So you DO think I’m hot.

Foster:Knew it. *smug grin emoji*

* * *

Turns out,going on a date with one of your best friends can make your stomach ache until vomit threatens. As such, when Foster’s knuckles rap against my door at approximately 7:45 PM, I almost barf up the strawberry chicken salad I had for lunch.

He’s early.

I tip the shot glass in my hand, tossing the burning liquid to the back of my throat like the pro I most definitely am not.

Swallow. Headshake. Deep breath.

I talk my feet into moving and shuffle my way to the front of the house.

“Look, before you say anything, yes, I know I’m early,” Foster starts as soon as I pull the door open. “But I—holy shit, Birdie. You look… Wow.”

I glance down at my outfit—an oversized off-the-shoulder light pink crop top, a simple black skirt that comes to mid-thigh, and a pair of black bow-tie wedges. I pulled my hair into a messy top knot, slid my gold hoops through my ears, and added a long necklace to complete the look.

It’s minimal but cute, especially with my toned legs and a sliver of my tanned stomach on display.

“Is it too much?”

“Hell no. In fact, it’s not enough. Go put more clothes on.”

I arch a brow, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“No, you’re right. Bad idea. Forget I said that. Let’s just go.”

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “No, no. I want to hear more about how I need to put more clothes on. Is this for my sake or yours? Because I can’t tell if that was a big brother statement or if it means you want to fuck me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and sputtering curse word after curse word. “Jesus, Wren. Just put it all out there why don’t ya.”

He knows I mean business if I’m cussing.

I can’t help it, though. We’ve had too many sexually charged moments these last few days for me to ignore this any longer. We don’t beat around the bush. That’s never been our thing, so why would we start doing it now?

“It’s just…” He starts before blowing out a hard breath and running his hand over the stubble lining his chin. “Fake dating,” he blurts. “It’s the fake dating thing. It’s messing with my head. Am I supposed to treat you like the Wren I’ve known my entire life or like a potential girlfriend? Where’s the line?”

“Wouldn’t that have been a good question to ask last night when you, oh, I don’t know, kissed me?”

---