Alphahole (Alphahole Roommates 1)

I feel my heart stutter and I take a step back.

“I don’t like it hot. Not really. I usually make a tiny smiley face of hot sauce. That’s it.”

He barks out more laughter. “I’ll order pizza,” he says and reaches for his iPhone, which is sitting on the bar.

That’s when the landline rings. I look at it and then look at him. He shrugs. “I haven’t given out that number. Don’t even know it. No idea.”

“Maybe it’s a telemarketer,” I say and reach for it, my throat still recovering from that burn.

I lift the phone.

“Hello?”

“Carly?”

Shit. Jon.

I immediately slam it down, feeling my face go red and hot. Like my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and the back of my throat.

Not today, jerk face. I’d rather eat more hot cock sauce.

I’m staring at it a good ten seconds while he’s talking into his phone, giving out the address. “What do you like on your pizza, Carly?” he asks.

I look up. He’s got an assessing look on his face, as he’s obviously just seen me slam that phone down and glare at it.

“Lots of vegetables. Lots of meat. Lots of cheese. Everything.” I say.

He smiles. “Load it up with the works. Triple cheese. Yeah.”

“No hot peppers,” I add.

He smiles a big and beautiful smile. I crack one, too.

The phone starts to ring again. I glare at it.

He finishes up with whatever pizza place he’s called and looks at the ringing house phone.

“What’s that all about?” He’s obviously picked up on my anxiety, on the way I hung up. Not like he could’ve missed all that, standing right beside me.

I shake my head. “Ignore it.” It keeps ringing a fifth and sixth time so evidently there’s no voicemail. I unplug it half way through the seventh ring.

He makes a face of interest.

“Jon?” he asks.

I shake my head, hoping he’ll get the message that I don’t wanna discuss it.

He moves to the bar and lifts the paper. “What’s this?”

“It’s a list of all the stuff of mine you’ve used. Tomorrow, please purchase all of those things and put them on my shelf in the fridge. And then, consider filling your shelf with your own groceries.”

He looks at me like I’m an alien lifeform and drops the paper on the counter.

“You wrote that in your room just now?”

I stare at him, waiting for his point.

“Which means you memorized every single thing? It was naggin’ at you that much that you’ve been stewing on every egg, every banana?”