Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

My eyes stung as I stared at a row of frozen pizzas.

“I feel you. Pineapple on pizza is a travesty.” I glanced up at Tyler clutching a basket, smiling sweetly.

I blinked rapidly. “Yeah, and they’re all out of Supreme.”

“Just so happens I took the last one.” He pointed to his basket. “I’d ask if you want to share, but I’m pretty sure of the answer.”

I winced. “I’m sorry about coffee the other week.”

He waved it off. “I jumped to conclusions. Next time we do coffee, it’s on me—as friends.”

He still wanted to hang out? He watched my lips carefully. “I’d really like that, Tyler.”

It came out more desperately than I intended. Could he tell?

He smiled, and I clutched the cart handle. “Anyway . . .”

He nodded. “See you around.”

“Enjoy the Supreme.”

The checkout assistant rang me up and I grabbed for Uncle Ben’s cash, and hesitated.

“That’ll be $98.25, sir,” he repeated.

I drew out my credit card. I had some savings from summer jobs. Not much, but enough for buying clothes and games. This, though, felt like my best investment.

I stared at my twenty bags of shopping, and laughed so hard tears dampened my eyelashes.

“Marc,” Hunter answered cheerily when I called.

“Would you, ah, do me a favor? Usually Uncle Ben drives to the store. Not today, and I didn’t think things through . . .”

Hunter chuckled, and the sound of keys jangled in the background. “Yeah, sure. We can track down V.A. right after. Where are you?”

“The Giant Eagle parking lot on Murray, contemplating guzzling a gallon of iced coffee.”

“An entire gallon?”

“This headache is killing me, and I love coffee. Good for all that nervous twitching.”

“Good for that bright, caffeinated aura, you mean. You won’t be hard to find.”

He hung up and my belly flipped. There was no way I could drink any coffee if I wanted to keep it down.

Hunter kept the van running while I dropped the grocery bags off and retrieved the Archie tin. Within ten minutes, we were hurtling in and out of traffic. I found an abandoned magazine at the side of the door and read the Ask Adam advice column.

“Dear Adam: My brother is a picky ass and doesn’t realize it. He’s interviewed, accepted, and then evicted five roommates in the last four months. I’m afraid he’ll never find the perfect person to live with, and if he can’t find that, how will he ever find a life partner? Response: Time to help him overcome his quirk. Get creative, raise the stakes, and dare your brother to last a month with someone?” I snickered. “Does Adam ever give sage advice?”

Hunter grinned. “Want another confession?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Dunno. Your others weren’t exactly treats.”

“You’ll like this one.”

I braced for it. “Try me.”

“I sent in a letter once.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

“About what?”

“Dear Adam: I’m depressed at being paralyzed from the waist down . . .”

“Oh.”

Hunter winked at me. “He gave sage advice that time. Promise. Told me if I missed basketball so much, I should damn well continue to play.”

I smiled softly. “Well. Good. Yeah. You certainly ripped up the court.”

Finally, Hunter parked and we disembarked. Hunter gestured up the road. “Vaughn Alexander lives at number one-eighteen.”

“Why didn’t we drive up?” I side-eyed him with a teasing shake of my head. “This better not be some thinly veiled commentary. I’ve started jogging again, you know.”

Hunter laughed. “There’s never parking spaces up there. You’re jogging?”

“I have abs I’m not ready to say goodbye to yet.”

“I enjoyed saying hello to them, too.”

The ink of his tattoo pen soaked shivers into me. “This way, you said?”

We headed up the street.

I stared down a row of oaks, touching my chest over Hunter’s artwork. “About Peter . . .”

Hunter let out a dreamy sigh. “So hot.”

I scowled, eliciting a smirk. “You name your plants?”

His gaze skipped to my hand, and he smiled quietly. “Geek Force, here.”

“That’s for sure.”

Hunter pushed on his wheels, arms flexing. “It’s from the tongue twister. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, how many peppers did Peter Piper pick?”

“You named him Peter to show off how fast you can recite that line?”

Hunter swerved his chair and lightly bumped my leg. I laughed, and he grinned back. “You got me.”

“I’m sufficiently impressed. And superiorly glad Peter isn’t a boyfriend. Not sure how I feel about fooling around with a guy who’s in love, no matter how open the relationship.”

Hunter fumbled his next push and his chair jerked. He quickly corrected it. “I’ve tried a lot of things, but I’ve only had one boyfriend before, and we were exclusive.”

“The guy you skinny dipped with?”

“You remembered.”

“You expected me to forget?”

His laugh bounced around us. “Charlie. Or Captain Cheese.”

“What?”

“I used to call him that. In my head. To him, on occasion.” Hunter’s lips twitched up fondly. “He was captain of our basketball club.”

“Skip to the part where his cock smells of cheese,” I growled.