Fat? He didn’t want me to say the word fat? “Uh, I don’t know what is going on right now,” I whispered.
“I never want to hear you call yourself a fat girl again; you got it?” He leaned in my window and hooked his finger under my chin. “You are smart, beautiful, lush, and fucking perfect.” He moved closer. “You hear me?” he whispered. “You’re fucking perfect, Bristol.”
I nodded dumbly. “Sure.”
“Can I come back to your place or not?”
I gulped and nodded my head. “Yes, but under the condition that you bring your own ice cream.”
“That’s the only condition you have for me?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. I very much like Mr. Speed’s ice cream, and I don’t want to share it with you.” And Pie just told me I wasn’t fat. If that wasn’t a fat girl speaking, I didn’t know what was.
Pie pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “Deal.”
He stepped back and reached out to press the call button for the waitress.
“Can I help you?” the waitress called over the speaker.
“Yeah,” Pie called. “Can I get a caramel sundae with pecans, marshmallow fluff, and extra cherries?”
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“Two double cheeseburgers with the works and a large fry.” Pie lowered his voice. “You and I are about to work up an appetite, babe.” He winked and pulled out his wallet. “And there’s a good fucking tip if you can get that out to me quick.”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the waitress stuttered. “Give us five minutes, and we’ll have that all out to you.”
“You’re crazy,” I called.
Pie shrugged and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “I’d pay a fucking million dollars if it meant I could be in bed with you.”
“That’s prostitution, Pie.”
Pie busted out laughing. “Yeah, you may be right, Bri, but I’d only pay that for you.”
“Selective prostitution,” I quipped.
“Call it what you want, but from where I’m standing, it just means I’ll do anything to get time with you.”
Those were the words that made my heart swoon and my stomach flip. Pie was so good at saying the right thing, but I always wondered if he actually meant what came out of his lips. It was easy to say nice things, but actually meaning them was something different.
“You want me to bring your stuff back to the house, or are you going to get frostbite on your balls like Frost?” I asked.
“It would probably be in the best interest of both of us if you brought it back to Wyndemere for me.”
“I can tell you, with all honesty, that there might be a couple bites missing from your ice cream by the time I pull into the driveway.” Remember, fat girl.
“And I can tell you that you could eat the whole damn thing, and I wouldn’t care as long as you let me in your bed.” Pie winked and grabbed a fry from my try. “Stop trying to think of ways to stop me from coming over.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I insisted. “I’m just telling you the realistic outcome of what might happen when I’m left along with Mr. Speed’s ice cream.”
Pie chuckled. “Well, I guess the same thing can be said about me and a pie.”
“Hence the reason why they call you Pie,” I sighed. “I figured you had to be obsessed with pie.”
“Partly.” Pie leaned against my car. “It also has to do with the fact that when I was eleven years old, Meg made me a pie for my birthday. As soon as I saw the pie, I knew I didn’t want to share it with anyone. So, while everyone was busy eating dinner, I snuck away with the pie and ate the whole fucking thing in ten minutes.”
“No,” I gasped. “How did you eat a whole pie in ten minutes? That gives you no time to savor each bite and just enjoy it.”