Page 82 of A Pizza My Heart

Fucking Winston. Worst timing ever, bro.

“I am blown away you’re still employed.”

“You and me both, sis. Okay, we have one slice of cheese stick and one basket of chicken fingers.” He slides our meals in front of us. “I brought southwest ranch, BBQ, and honey mustard because I know you two way too well.” He points toward the back of the restaurant. “I’m going on a smoke break and I don’t want to be bothered. I’ll be back…” He checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Whenever the fuck I feel like it. Bon appétit, nerds.”

Without another word, he takes off.

“Your best friend is horrible.”

“Your brother is even worse.”

“True.” She sighs and begins unrolling her silverware while I begin to slowly die from curiosity.

What about my story!I want to shout, but I don’t. I bite my tongue and pick up a chicken tender, dunking it in the honey mustard first, then tangy BBQ sauce.

“Foster?”

I pause mid dunk and drag my eyes her way.

She’s not looking at me, attention focused on placing her napkin across her lap. She picks up her fork and knife, cutting a bite of pizza from the oversized slice.

“Yes, Wren?”

She doesn’t answer right away, focused on her food.

I take a bite.

“I…I like the sound of your story…of me being that girl.”

All the air leaves my lungs.

Wait, nope—that’s just my chicken tender getting lodged in my throat and my airway closing as a result.

She’s not opposed to the idea of us, and now I’m going to die by choking on a chicken tender.

Just my luck.

Slice Thirteen

Wren

Iclimb across the table when I realize he’s not stunned into silence by my admission.

He’s choking on his dinner.

Great.I admit out loud that I might possibly have feelings for Foster and now he’s choking. Just my freakin’ luck.

Kneeled on the table, I beat my tiny fists on his back as hard as I can, hoping to help him breathe and trying to ignore the water spilling all over the place.

The cold water splashing over his lap must help shock his system, because he makes these awful half-wheeze, half-coughing noises before gasping sharply, whatever was lodged in his throat suddenly clearing out.

He huffs air in and out of his lungs, each inhalation falling harshly on my ears.

“You trying to fucking kill me, Birdie?” he accuses, falling against the bench seat, rubbing at his chest. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Sorry.” I sit back on my haunches, watching him try to return his breathing to normal, unsure what to do next. “I thought that was what you wanted to hear.”

He regards me for a moment then scoots my way, and I know he just dragged his ass through even more water.

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