15. Law
15
Law
Man Cannot Live on Pizza Alone
P anting on my back with Greta’s head on my chest is not where I saw this night going. To be clear, I’m not complaining, but my head’s been spinning since she took her clothes off.
The moment she raised the stakes on our bet, I was sure she’d never pay up if she lost. I fully intended to give her a hard time about it, too—already had some good zingers queued up.
Thought maybe I might even get to see her blush while she tried to weasel her way out of following through.
Yeah, remind me not to underestimate her again.
She didn’t hesitate for a moment, just took her clothes off like I’d already seen her naked a million times before.
Hell, I may have blushed, but she sure didn’t.
And when she pulled my beer bottle to her mouth . . . let’s just say if I get dementia and only a single memory survives, it will be that one.
Actually, I’ll probably remember her tongue getting stuck, too.
I don’t mean to laugh in this tender moment, but damn, what a hilarious precursor to such amazing sex.
“What’s so funny?”
“What would your first guess be?”
She sighs, and it’s fucking adorable because I know she knows exactly what I’m laughing about. “My tongue getting stuck in that bottle?”
“Come on. Even you have to see the humor in it at this point.”
“What I lack in seduction skills, I make up for with comedy.”
“You do not lack in seduction skills, sweetheart.” I tickle her shoulder just to feel her squirm against me. “It was funny, but the moments before your tongue got stuck are a hell of a lot more memorable.”
“I wish I could scrub the whole episode from my brain.”
“Don’t say that. I don’t want you to wish away any moments we spend together. And if you forgot that part, you might forget everything that came after.”
“No, trust me, I won’t ever forget what came after. Or after that. Or after that.”
“If you keep flattering me, there might be more to come.”
“I can’t take any more. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go anywhere in the morning. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk.”
“What did I just tell you about flattering me?”
We both laugh, and I like the way it sounds. Our laughter occurs together a lot. And I hope what happened in her bedroom this evening happens a lot from now on.
“Hey, what happened to that pizza you put in the oven?”
She bolts upright. “Oh, shit! I forgot all about the pizza.”
Her nose crinkles as she sniffs the air. “Wait a minute. It should be burned to a crisp by now, but I don’t smell anything. Do you?”
“No. Are you sure you turned the oven on?”
Hanging her head, she admits, “I was so nervous about being naked in front of you that I nearly forgot to take the plastic off the pizza. Then I was so overcome with relief that my brain had kicked in before I let it melt all over . . . everything that happened right after is a blur. I have no memory of turning on the oven. And since the smoke detectors haven’t gone off, I think it’s safe to assume I didn’t.”
“We would’ve been too busy to take it out if you had, and now I’m twice as hungry, so it’ll taste even better. Some mistakes work out for the best.”
She smiles, but there’s no laughter. I can’t decode the look in her eyes, but I’d sell my soul to keep it from being regret.
Please don’t let her regret this.
I watch her shimmy into a pair of shorts without bothering with underwear. If she knew how hot I find that . . . never mind, she definitely knows. Her boobs shake a little as she pulls a t-shirt over her head. She never goes braless. I like this post-sex, free-the-nipple version of her. Suddenly, my stomach growls like an angry bear.
It’s not the first time since I moved here that I’ve found myself more interested in pizza than pussy. But with Greta, I am definitely still interested in the latter. I prefer to think of this pizza as a precursor to round two.
Or round three, as the case may be. It’s not bragging if it’s true.