The Introvert's Guide to Speed Dating (The Introvert's Guide 2)

“Okay, now you can either slap it to shape it or just go straight to tossing it.”

Ollie looked at the dough on the table and slapped his hand against it. Hard. “Like that?”

I blinked at him. “No. It’s pizza dough, Ollie. Not an ass. You don’t need to slap it so hard.”

He grinned.

“You put it on your hand and forearm and gently slap it to get lumpy bumpy bits out, but maybe you should go straight to tossing it. You know, in case you bruise it from your enthusiasm.”

He laughed right as Leo came back in.

“You haven’t done yours yet?” he asked me.

“No, monster. Someone’s taking forever.” I winked at him. “Why don’t you do your toppings, and I’ll put it in? I think Ollie could take a while.”

Leo giggled and pulled up a chair to do his. “Is he slapping it too hard? I heard you say the a-word.”

I grimaced. “I’ll put a dollar in the jar.”

“I’m rich.”

Ollie laughed. “You have a swear jar?”

“Momma says naughty words sometimes, and I like soccer balls.” Leo shrugged like it was no big deal.

I sighed and met Ollie’s eyes. “My grandmother has a potty mouth, and when Leo told one of his friends, they told him their sister has a swear jar because she’s a teenager and very naughty. Leo decided he wanted one so that anyone who swears in his presence has to give him money.”

“Does your grandmother do it?”

“No, and he has a tally on the fridge of how much money she owes him.”

Leo leaned over. “Twenty-three bucks.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of swearing,” Ollie said, appropriately horrified.

“She’s old and claims she forgets.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s just a belligerent pain in the—”

Leo froze and stared at me.

“—Behind,” I finished.

“Oh, no,” he muttered.

Ollie visibly fought back a laugh. “How do I toss this thing? I feel like I’m making pancakes again. Last time I did that, they stuck to the ceiling.”

“You really aren’t good in the kitchen, are you?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Can you cook at all?”

“I can roast chicken. Boil a few vegetables. Always burn the potatoes, though,” he mused. “Not much point cooking a roast dinner for just me.”

Damn. It must have been hard not having your comforts. I couldn’t imagine just cooking for one. I only cooked as often as I did because Leo liked to cook and often helped me. In my opinion, cooking was a vital skill, and it was one I wanted him to have.

“Okay, copy me.” I grinned at Ollie and lifted my pizza. I slapped it gently in a few places, then showed him the position to toss. “Do it slowly and gently.”

“It’s not a butt,” Leo interjected.

I almost dropped the pizza. “Leo!”

He giggled.

“Okay.” I fought back a laugh of my own. I had deserved that, after all. “Like this.” I showed him how to do it. “Slowly.”

Ollie moved the dough counter-clockwise, super slowly until he got the hang of the motion, when he sped up a little bit. We did three or four turns before I said, “And toss!”

“Wait, what?” He threw the dough up in the air, eyes wide and panicked. “Ah!”

“Catch it!” I yelled.

He held his arms out perfectly straight in front of him, eyes still resembling dinner plates, and watched in horror as the pizza base landed on his forearms.

And slipped right through to a pile on the table.

Leo burst out laughing.

I looked at Ollie. I really was trying desperately not to laugh at him. He’d tried so hard only to fail at the last hurdle, and I’d done that more times than I could count, but it…

Well, it was funny.

He was still standing there with his arms out in front of him, looking forlornly at the mess of dough that had slapped onto the table and made flour go everywhere in a puff of white. “That didn’t go well.”

I bit my lip, gently putting my base down. “Do you want me to help? You might be able to unfold it, but I think you should re-knead it and start again.”

Leo giggled. “Done, Momma. Is this going to take forever?”

“Yes,” I replied, picking up his tray. “I’ll shout when this is done, okay?”

“Can I play video games?”

“Once you’ve picked up all your laundry and put it in the hamper in the bathroom.”

He sighed, but he left and headed for the stairs.

He wasn’t going to pick up the laundry, was he?

“He’s not picking up that laundry,” Ollie said, focusing on kneading the dough back into a ball. “Man, this is hard.”

“This is the best entertainment I’ve had in a while. I can’t lie to you.”

“I’m glad you’re so amused.”

“You just had your arms too far apart, that’s all.”

He picked up a handful of flour and threw it in my direction.

“What the hell?” I squealed, just stepping out of the way in time. “Oh, you are so mopping the floor when this is done. If it’s ever done.”