17. Pizza Party
17
Pizza Party
Thankfully, I had the next day off, so I didn’t have to worry about answering any more of Ash’s questions. Or implications. Or whatever that was. She’d looked at me like hugging Sal was my version of a love confession.
And it wasn’t. I just didn’t hug everyone.
Around ten in the morning, my phone pinged with a message.
Sal: Hey, did I mess up last night?
Me: With what?
The girls? Me? Janice?
Sal: I think I drank too much. While I don’t remember everything from last night, I do remember a hug.
Our hug. My cheeks buzzed. Was it really that memorable compared to all his friends’ affections?
Sal: I know you said hugs were too much, so if I was too much, I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry, and hopefully will never drink that much again. [sick emoji] [pleading eyes emoji]
I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t smile. One would hope he wouldn’t need to get drunk over heartache again.
Me: I actually didn’t mind the hug. Mostly because I was catching you from falling on your face.
Sal: Nice reflexes [strong arm emoji] Thanks.
Me: You’re welcome.
Sal: So, does this mean I can still cash in on pizza and game night?
Me: Yes.
I doubted he’d cash in on it.
Sal: Great! What about tonight?
Tonight? My pulse surged. Where? Why? I hadn’t washed my hair. I was in sweatpants. No bra. I’d need a fucking bra for this.
Sal: Totally casual. I’ll bring the pizza. We play the games. I just need a normal day.
My thoughts cooled into razor-sharp focus. All I wanted was a normal day too. No messages. No creeps. No panic attacks.
Instead, the days blurred together in a haze of dopamine hits from video games and fixing shit. But I did smile at his demonstrations. We could play together.
Me: I’m not exactly normal, Sal.
Sal: I know. I like that.
Oh. Was he hitting on me?
No. That was ridiculous. He was friendly. He saw the good in everyone. Hanging out together could be a new normal.
Me: Can we also get garlic bread?
It wasn’t like we were going to kiss.
Sal: Hell yes!
I managed to shower and spruce up the house enough for a friendly visit. Security automatically sent a message to my phone when he got to the gate. My visitor was on the way. Great.
I dusted chip crumbs off the couch. The robot-vac would get them.
Cameras in front of the house pinged, as did my phone.
Victor: Are you having a party?
Shit. I forgot it also alerted him. On the live feed, Sal struggled with five-or-so boxes of pizza. No wonder my brother thought I was hosting something.
Me: It’s just Sal.
Victor: The guy with the girlfriend?
Me: They just broke up.
All he sent back was an emoji with one eyebrow raised. The texting ellipses started flowing, so I cut him off.
Me: We’re playing video games and eating pizza. I don’t want to hear it.
The doorbell rang.
I tucked my phone away and opened the door.
Sal craned his neck at the bulletproof glass around the door and security cameras. “Hey. This house is tricked all the way out, and you didn’t even have to craft it.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. It was nicer than what we built Janice?
My cheeks tensed in a thin smile. “Need some help with that?” I took the top boxes from him, the warmth seeping through the cardboard.
“Thanks. I know you’re probably thinking this is overkill, but I’m telling you, whatever we don’t eat now, we can demolish over the weekend,” he said, following me inside. “Pizza is the ultimate reheat-friendly food.”
“Sounds healthy.” I snorted, placing the boxes on the coffee table. Were we going to normalize eating our feelings? “To be fair, it is tasty. This is the second time I’ve had pizza this week. It smells amazing.”
“No kidding. You still got some? We can add it to the spread.” He wobbled, removing his shoes while balancing the remaining pizza.
I threw my head back in a laugh. Maybe my brother was right. He was a bad influence.
Sal stood in the entryway, staring at me with an odd expression on his face .
“What?” I reached for my cap, which wasn’t there, of course, so I scratched my scalp instead. Was it my house? My hair? A hangover still in full swing?
He shrugged and smiled at the floor. “Thanks for doing this,” he said.
I waved him off. “It’s nothing.” So far. “Thanks for bringing the pizza. It’s been a while since I’ve hosted anyone. Shall we eat or play games first?”
“Eat while it’s warm.” He hurried to the couch, almost slipping on the hardwood with his eager, socked scamper. “Are you watching anything good lately?”
“Yes.” I furrowed my brow.
“Put it on.” He gestured.
“It’s sci-fi,” I hedged.
“It’s perfect,” he said, flipping open the box. Steam erupted, releasing the aroma of grease, blended cheese, and meat.
My mouth watered. Okay. Even if I didn’t plan to watch something together, eating would be a good thing.
“You got a special seat, or can I park anywhere?” he asked, twisting his butt a few feet over the cushions as if scanning them for heat.
“Corner’s mine.” I put on my second-favorite rerun show and settled in with a huge slice of pizza.
“Space spies. Sounds cool,” he said, bending over a giant paper towel to eat. He watched with rapture, lips smacking.
An officer in a tight purple uniform marched up to the ship’s control panel, her hair twisted and pinned away from her face, which made sense, in space.
He’d be intrigued for other reasons, though. Her uniform, while full-coverage, hugged every curve.
“Do we like her?” he whispered.
“Sure.” She was competent. Brave. Generally good at things .
“Nice.” He nodded.
I chuckled and filled him in on character dynamics where appropriate.
“That guy’s my favorite,” he decided, pointing at the pilot.
“Hmm.” I sat cross-legged, accidentally bumping him with my knee.
He frowned. “What? Don’t tell me he’s a double agent.”
I shook my head and sighed. “If only.”
He set down his pizza and leaned over my lap. “No. Noooo. Zero. Do not tell me.”
I bit down my smile and shrugged. “No spoilers.”
“Fuck,” he lamented, slapping his wrist on his knee. By the end of the episode, he was shouting at the television. “Are you telling me they kill the comic relief?”
“Is this too upsetting for you? We can switch to gaming.” I wagged the remote.
“Put on the next episode,” he scolded sarcastically. “Getting me emotionally involved. I need another slice.”
Any excuse for more cheese.
After the next episode and cliffhanger, he collapsed in place. “Come on.”
“It’s addicting,” I agreed.
He flung his arm out at the TV. “It’s mean. We need a whole week to binge this freaking thing.”
I played with the edge of a thin napkin. “You could borrow it. Or come over again.”
“Yeah.” He chewed, mulling, but not looking at me.
My extremities tingled unpleasantly. Not that I needed his company. But if he wanted a normal thing. This was…normal. TV.
“I want to watch more, but we did come here to play, so maybe I should work off some of these calories.” He wiped his fingers on his palms, which did nothing but spread the grease .
“Wash your hands before you touch anything,” I warned.
“Good idea.” He hopped up. “Kitchen? Bathroom?”
I pointed down the hall, then turned him with my foot.
“Thanks, honey.” He winced. “Slugger, sorry.”
My brain fizzled, and something in my chest sparked. It was fine, probably. “Was that like the Ash thing, where you call her ‘baby girl’ ironically?”
“Maybe. My mouth does stupid things.” He chuckled, shuffling quickly down the hall as he scratched his goatee.
“I can relate,” I said, more to the empty room than my friend.
All in all, this was going well. No need to overanalyze things.
Honey. Sweetheart. Slugger. Zero. However he referred to me, it didn’t change my chemical being. Or our…chemistry.
It was warm in here, though. And I’d only get warmer with physical games. My hoodie stuck to the small of my back. I peeled it off, then fluffed my hair to get it off my neck.
There. Better.
Sal strode back in, almost slipping as soon as he saw me. We hadn’t waxed the floor or spilled anything, so I wondered why he was so clumsy on his feet. “Oh, hey,” he said.
“Hey. Show me the magic?” I offered him the motion sensor drumsticks.
He flushed and grinned, dragging the drum set over. “I’ll try.”
“I believe in you,” I said.
He flopped into the seat beside me, our thighs flush, and arched his eyebrow at me.
My legs sizzled, and I shrugged. “What? I do.”
“Let’s see if you’re any good on these keys, honey.” He nudged my arm and selected a song .
Honey. That time, it was definitely a joke. I chuckled even though it wasn’t funny. Instead of tangling, my guts skipped rope on this silliness. I usually opted for guitar or keyboard, but maybe one day, maybe with Sal, I could sing.