Promise Me

“Hi!” I say, opening the glass door and trying to act like he isn’t the best thing since, well ever.

“Hey. Pizza delivery.” He gives me a quick kiss on the mouth before striding inside.

The pie smells delicious, but he smells better. Which is crazy given my love of carbs, but apparently I’m not the only one who notices because Snowflake charges into the kitchen to bark with joy and dance around his feet.

I don’t blame her. “Thank you. I’m starving.”

He puts the box down on the counter, and I notice things Snow will never properly appreciate, like the way his T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The guy is dangerous coming or going. And I’m hungry for more than food now.

“Me, too,” he says, turning to look at me. My legs go weak at the blatant hunger in his eyes.

I think he wants more than pizza, too.

“What kind did you get?” I manage to perch on a barstool without flinging myself into his arms.

“I wasn’t sure what your favorite toppings were”—his gaze bounces around the kitchen—“or who else might be joining this pizza party, so I took the safe bet and went with cheese only.”

“Dixie and Amber went to a movie, so it’s a pizza party for two. And I love just cheese.” And you.

Whoa. So not an appropriate thought. I lift the box lid and give Vaughn a slice before taking my own. He pulls a chunk of crust from his piece, shows it to Snow, and then tosses it into the hall with a “Go get it, girl!” before I can say, “No! She’s already had two treats.” Oh well. Off she goes. I’m in such a hurry to stuff my face and hide my affection for him anyway, that I burn the roof of my mouth.

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“Ow. Ow. Ow.” I fan my hand in front of my face. “It’s hawt.” I need to chill out. It’s normal for friends to feel attachment, so I don’t need to burn my tongue off in order not to accidentally blurt out something inappropriate.

“How about we slow down, Speed Racer, plate our food, and take it to the couch?”

I nod. Then watch as he takes care of everything, including glasses of water and napkins. I follow him to the family room where we sit facing each other on the sofa. There is no end to how long I could stare at him.

“This is really good. Thanks again,” I say.

“Welcome. I’m glad our timing worked out.” His attention hasn’t strayed from me for even a second, his eyes keeping us connected and making my body heat. He’s a pretty intense friend. Just saying.

“How did your final audition go? It was today, right?”

He runs a hand over his smooth, angular jaw. “It went well, I think.”

“What did they have you do?”

“Another actor and I were put into a room and thrown a bunch of scenarios, like this person is going to move forward, this person is not, this person is a great singer, and then we had to improv what we’d say.”

“You are a smooth-tongued devil, Vaughn Shaughnessy. I bet you slayed every single one of their scenarios.”

“I must have done okay because then they called me into a room by myself and said, ‘The judges just tore a performance to shreds and the contestant’s father passed away two weeks ago, go.’”

“Oh my gosh, that’s horrible. What did you say?”

He scans the room like he’s looking for the answer. “I—um—I said bravery takes different forms, and tonight you showed us one of them. Getting up here, continuing to compete, made a whole lot of people really proud of you. They’re rooting for you to come back strong next week.”

Smooth-tongued doesn’t begin to cover it. “How did you come up with something so perfect off the top of your head?”

“I don’t know. I tried to say what I’d want to hear if I was the contestant.”

“You nailed it.”

“I hope so. The new set is sick, by the way. Regardless of what happens, maybe I can get you in to take a look around.”

“Can’t say no to that.” Pizza sauce smudges the corner of his mouth, so I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.