Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

Huh.

I’ve got mustard, ketchup, relish, sriracha, mayonnaise, salsa, steak sauce and one single moldy tomato.

“Goddammit,” I mutter.

I guess Pizza Pizza it is. I go over to my phone and, clicking open the latest message, hold it. And hold it.

What in the hell…

Out of all the messages I could’ve expected to see, this would come dead last on the list. Hell, I’d expect to get a message from Jax that he’d just gotten torpedoed en route to Laura’s by none other than Laura herself, in cahoots with some Russian extremists, before getting this.

Hello there.

Brown-red hair rumpled, a teasing beckon of a smile… As if the rest wasn’t enough… her breasts squeezed together begging for me to put my hand between them and enjoy their fullness myself.

Oh fuck.

Hard from a fucking picture? What am I, twelve?

That, plus… the middle finger.

I find a smile curving on my face too. I like this girl already.

Food forgotten, I shoot off a text: Hello to you too.

Nothing. I Google Pizza Pizza and am about to dial their number when—

—Didn’t mean to send that.

I can pretend I didn’t see it?

—Please do.

OK… What about that date?

A pause that’s too long. I grab the pizza box and walk over to chuck it into the recycle bin. By the time I get back, she’s responded: What date?

The one I was going to take you on before you ran off.

—Didn’t seem like you’d be done with your business anytime soon.

OK, well. I’m sorry. Now I have two things to make it up to you, so, let’s say one amazing date?

I scowl at her lack of response. Clearly, the woman likes keeping me hanging. Too bad I’m not about to give up that easily. I’ve suddenly got one of my killer ideas, one that’ll solve the twin problems of my gnawing hunger and wanting to see her ASAP.

Willow. Meet me there in an hour?

—I have plans.

Two hours? Tomorrow?

Maybe I’m moving too fast. Usually I regale the girls with some good old Nolan original texting. I’ve even helped Emerson from time to time.

Thing is, I want to see her now.

Am I allowed to ask what plans? I text her.

—Do you care?

I chuckle. This girl’s got fire, I’ll give her that.

Just trying to be polite.

—You weren’t so concerned before.

Yep, lots and lots and lots of fire. Not enough to cook me, though. I like it hot.

Listen. I really had a shitty last 24 hours. I’ll explain when we meet in person.

—That’s fair. I have some friends over. We’re watching Scary Movie 3.

One of my favorites. Apparently Simon Cowell regrets being in it though.

—Ha, really? But his scene was so funny!

Agreed. He stopped by my club one time and was grumbling about it. Otherwise, he was super cool though.

Shit, I don’t normally feel the need to name-drop. This woman’s keeping me on my toes. Fuck. This is why I just need to see her and get it over with. I’ve never been a patient man.

Tomorrow, then. Eight PM at Willow?

—Sure. Got to go.

Enjoy your movie. Talk later ;)

I stare at my phone. Will we, though? I have the date set up, why bother? Then again, a bit more banter wouldn’t hurt.

First, though, a man’s gotta have some fuel. I’m going to need a pizza.

My belly rumbles. Make that two.

Chapter 6

Sierra

“I’m going to kill you,” I tell Wynona before restarting the movie.

“You mean ‘you’re welcome’?” she shoots back with a sugary sweet smirk on her ruby-red lips, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie again.

“You are not going to just leave us hanging like that!” Josie declares with a dismayed frown, yanking away the wine bottle I’m reaching for.

“Why not?” I ask. “After that stunt Wynona pulled, let’s just say I did some damage control.”

“I did you a favor,” Wynona says stubbornly, tilting up her chin. “You never would’ve texted the man otherwise.”

“A favor?!?” I protest. “Sending that pic when you had no right to, to the last person I’d want to receive it? You couldn’t have just—I don’t know—sent him a ‘hey’ text if you really absolutely had to intervene?!?”

“OK, fine,” she relents, with a shrug that ends with her shoulders slumping. She wraps her black bat cardigan arms across her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m an awful person, OK? An awful person who just made another shitty life choice.”

“Oh stop,” I grumble, grabbing the wine bottle and shoving it to her. I feel like wrapping my own arms across my chest. Or just disappearing into a hole in the floor. Or going to that date. Agh! “A simple ‘sorry’ would’ve sufficed.”

“So you’re really not going to tell us,” Josie says with a pout.

“Fine.” I sigh, shoving as many chips as I can fit into my mouth. I still feel light-headed from our text conversation, as quick as it was. Like I’m riding in a couch pulled by flying horses through clouds… Or, more likely, like I’m a complete idiot. “We’re going to Willow tomorrow night.”