Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
OOPS, I PEPPERONI’D AGAIN
“Well, we’re down to stale cereal with no milk, instant pancake mix, or crusty bread with no butter as dinner options,” Casey announces from the kitchen. “We’ve even run out of ramen.”
It’s a typical Sunday evening. One of the rare quiet ones where I don’t have a late shift at the hotel. No dress code. No grumpy guests. Except my plans of making a warm meal, settling in with a good book, and a glass of wine are thwarted by the roommate forgetting to run errands.
“It was your turn to go for groceries, you know,” I say loudly from the couch, not setting down my book since it’s a total page turner.
“Yeah, I might’ve gotten… distracted.” His voice draws closer, and I glance up to find him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, his glasses askew.
“I, uh, got this though.” He flops down beside me and hands me a bottle of wine.
Both of my eyebrows lift. It’s my favorite.
“Casey! You didn’t have to get me this one. I would’ve been fine with the ones on sale.”
We usually buy this particular bottle for celebrations. Definitely not our usual Sunday-night-in fare.
“Happy second friendaversary, Kallie,” he says, soft enough it catches me off guard.
Wait—what?
We celebrate that now?
And how does he even remember the exact date?
He’s watching me, expression open and a little hopeful. There’s something in his eyes I can’t quite name. My chest tightens with guilt for not remembering.
He must feel it, too, because he clears his throat and shifts tone. “We should go grab takeout. Drink this while watching The Fifth Element for the hundredth time.”
I fucking love that movie.
My stomach growls in agreement, reminding me I still haven’t gone back for my bag forgotten at Fangerella’s. Maybe going with Casey isn’t the worst idea.
And they really do make the best garlic-free pizza I’ve ever had.
I snort to myself. They. Who am I kidding?
There’s only one pizza guy I’m interested in seeing again, despite myself.
“Yeah, okay. Sounds way better than stale cereal,” I say, setting my book aside. “Actually, I know a place close by. Might be where I left my messenger bag yesterday. So, two birds, one slice. Or whatever.”
I check the time on my phone. Six twenty-three. They should be open. Hopefully.
Casey stands and stretches, arms lifted over his head in a lazy arc that pulls his shirt up just enough to flash a glimpse of bare skin and toned abs. It’s casual—probably unintentional—but I catch it anyway.
Because of course I do.
Even when I try not to look, I end up peeking.
“Good. Show me this place. I can hear your stomach from here.” He smirks while grabbing his wallet and sliding on his shoes. Baseball cap flipped backward, curls spilling out—yeah, he’s casually hot, and it’s kind of rude. A fact I am noticing way too often as of late.
“It’s not that loud,” I mutter, shoving my feet into my flats. His grin only stretches wider.
I glance around for my bag and almost facepalm. Duh. Pizza shop.
“Supper’s on me today,” he says, like he’s read my thoughts.
He does that more than I’d admit. Probably from living together so long.
It’s kind of sweet.
“Fine. But if you’re buying, I’m getting cheesy bread.”
Casey smirks, adjusting his glasses. “See? This is why we’re friends.”
“Because I like carbs?”
“Because you understand that pizza without cheesy bread is just a sad life choice.”
We walk down the stairs and into the soft evening air. The sun’s low, shadows stretching between buildings as the day’s heat fades.
Casey buries his hands in his pockets as he waits for me to lead. “So, where is this place?”
“This way.”
We fall into step beside each other. Close enough to share body heat, not quite brushing.
A breeze slips down the back of my neck, pulling strands loose from my messy bun. I shiver. That feeling of being watched is back again. It’s like eyes crawling over my skin.
But then Casey speaks, reminding me I’m not alone, and the feeling disappears like it was never there.
“Do you remember how we met? Two years ago?”
I glance over. He’s looking at the sidewalk, lips curved in a fond smile.
“You mean when I crashed into the mechanic shop and my car fell apart like every bolt threw up a white flag and surrendered at the same time?” I laugh.
The memory’s equal parts mortifying and hilarious.
I really liked that car—right up until the moment it coughed out its last breath at Casey’s feet.
I sigh. “I fucking loved that car.”
Getting to work would be easier with a new one, but I’m still saving. Casey’s promised to help me keep it running once I get it. That is, if I ever manage to afford it.
“I still don’t understand how you drove it for that long. You had duct tape holding the doors shut, Kal. Duct tape.” He laughs, full and unfiltered.
It’s infectious. I grin without meaning to.
“It had tires. It started when I turned the key.”
Casey scoffs at that.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Okay, okay. Fine. Most of the time it did.”
He barks out a laugh, then throws an arm around my shoulders and leans in, breath warm at my ear. “We’ll even pretend it didn’t sound like a dying lawn mower when it did.”
I roll my eyes and start to shrug off his arm until I realize we’re standing in front of Fangerella’s.
“This is it.”
He opens the door, casting a skeptical look at the sign but staying silent. His hand brushes the small of my back as we step inside, the heat of it sinking into my skin. Once through the threshold, his arm drapes across my shoulders again.
I open my mouth to crack a joke about it, but I never get the chance.
Because we walk straight into a wall of tension.
Pizza Man.
He’s standing just inside, shoulders squared, spine rigid, like a live wire in human form. There’s something coiled tight beneath his skin, vibrating like he’s barely holding himself back.
I suck in a sharp breath.
What the hell is his deal?
Casey starts to speak. “Whoa, sorry man—didn’t see you there—” But his voice cuts off in a choking sound, strangled mid-word.
I startle as he’s ripped away from me faster than my eyes can track the movement.
One second he’s beside me.
The next, he’s gone.
My heart lurches.
Pizza Man’s hand is wrapped around Casey’s throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing. Casey’s feet dangle, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple.
My brain stalls.
That shouldn’t be possible.
Casey’s built like a brick fucking wall. A full-grown man. Yet Pizza Man is holding him up with one hand like he weighs less than a sack of flour.
Fury rolls off him in suffocating waves.
Then he looks at me.
And everything inside me goes cold.
His eyes are completely black.
A low growl rumbles from his chest.
The sound is unmistakably possessive, vibrating through the room and settling somewhere deep in my bones.
His lips peel back.
Fangs slide into place.
Oh.
Shit.
The room suddenly feels very, very small.
My brain desperately reaches for something normal.
Anything normal.
I have two thoughts simultaneously.
Casey wanted cheesy bread.
I should’ve listened to my instincts and stayed away from this place.
Now Casey’s hanging three feet off the ground and turning more purple by the second.
I don’t think he’s getting that cheesy bread.
I think he is the cheesy bread.
And somehow that makes me the pizza.
Okay, that metaphor got away from me.
The point is:
Casey is the appetizer.
And I’m pretty sure I’m the main fucking course.