Sugar

Wandering around my apartment, I debated if I should call a client—maybe Micah. He’d celebrate with me in his own Micah way. I had nothing better to do, but the idea of making a date didn’t sit right.

I nosed around in the fridge for a few minutes and snagged a bottle of wine off the shelf. I wasn’t a big drinker, so I’d been saving this for a special occasion. Cocktails were nice, but I only indulged when someone else was making them or paying. This bottle of wine had been in my fridge for over three months, and I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of expiration date I was missing.

Rummaging through my drawers, I searched for a corkscrew, unsure if I owned one. About to give up my search, I stilled when I heard a door close. My gaze drifted to the front of my apartment and then down the front of my body for an inspection of my appearance.

I wore sweats, slippers, and my hair twisted into a messy bun. There was nothing sexy about my outfit, so maybe this was the best time to see what had caught my neighbor’s tongue. Grabbing the wine bottle and my apartment key, I crossed the hall and knocked.

His footsteps shuffled, and the door opened. His eyes did a double take of my outfit, and then he grinned. “Do I know you?”

Funny guy. I held up the wine. “I need a screw.”

He laughed and gave the door a nudge, so it opened wide. “You guessed my magic password. Come on in.”

I followed him inside, immediately noting how different his apartment appeared when not full of fifty drunken guests and gourmet food stations. We headed into the kitchen where an open box of pizza sat on the island, one slice removed and sitting on a plate.

“Did you eat?”

The scent of garlic and basil filled the air, and my stomach stirred at the opportunity. “Not since lunch.”

He brought down another plate from his nicer-than-mine cabinets. “One slice or two.”

“One.”

He pursed his lips. “Really?”

“Really.”

Appearing unimpressed, he dropped a slice on the plate and went to a drawer. Holding up a corkscrew, he took the bottle of wine from me, pausing to frown at the label. “What is this?”

I slid onto a wooden stool and pulled the pizza slice closer. “I don’t know. I bought it when I moved in.”

“And you never opened it?”

I shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Yet you like bourbon.”

Surprised he remembered what I drank, I smiled. “Honey bourbon. It’s whiskey with training wheels.”

He scoffed. “Whiskey’s whiskey. You drink. You just don’t know how to open bottles.”

I pulled the cheese off my slice as he twisted the cork free.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re ruining the pizza.”

“I don’t eat cheese.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that some girly bullshit to do with your body?”

“No. I have a dairy allergy. Cheese doesn’t do nice things to me.”

“I could order something else.” He filled two glasses and slid one to me.

“It’s fine. This is how I’ve always eaten pizza.”

“Okay.” He took a sip and grimaced. “This is terrible wine.”

“You don’t have one of those little voices in your head that tells you not to vocalize every single thought that crosses your mind, do you?”

“Like a Jiminy Cricket? No. I’m a real boy.”

I laughed. He certainly was.

We settled in and quietly ate. Noah finished off three slices before calling it quits. He nudged the box toward me. “Have another one.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “Because I’m still a girl and I still follow some rules. I had a big lunch.”

His eyes studied me for a long minute. Reaching into the box, he plucked the cheese off a slice and dropped it onto the wax paper, then plopped the piece on my plate. “Eat.”

“I’m full.”

“Liar. Eat.”

I had no intention of eating that slice. “Where do you work?”

“I own a company that does media marketing for extreme sports.”

“Like cliff diving?”

“That, and skateboarding, wakeboarding, mountain biking. You name it I’ve probably videoed it.”

“How did you get into that?”

“I’m a guy. I love anything dangerous.”

“Do you do those things?”

“I’ll try anything once.”

“Have you ever jumped out of a plane?”

“Twice. I’m going again in a few months when the weather breaks.”

“So you’re insane.” I took a bite of pizza.

“I like the rush. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”

“No, thank you. I prefer to stay on the ground and leave the flying to the birds.”

“Chicken.”

I waved a finger. “Yes, a perfect example of a flightless bird. Like me.”

“You don’t fly at all?”

“Nope.”

“Why? Don’t you like to travel?”

I shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”

His brow tightened as he sipped his wine. “Have you ever been out of the country?”

“Nope.” Truly full now, I picked at the crust of my half-eaten slice.

“Those guys that take you out, I’ve seen the cars they drive. Any of them ever offer to fly you anywhere?”