A Pizza My Heart Read online

  “Sorry.” I sit back on my haunches, watching him try to return his breathing to normal, unsure what to do next. “I thought that was what you wanted to hear.”

  He regards me for a moment then scoots my way, and I know he just dragged his ass through even more water.

  He plants his hands on either side of my knees, and I try hard to focus on how close he is to my exposed thighs.

  “Is that why you said it? Because you think it’s what I want to hear? Did you just almost kill me over something you don’t even mean?”

  No, I said it because I meant it—more than I’d like to admit.

  When he said semi-autobiographical, I didn’t believe him. I was waiting for a punchline, a plot twist. Anything.

  But it never came.

  He meant it. The girl in his story? She was me.

  And I liked the sound of it.

  I shake my head violently. “No! I mean it.”

  He gives me a disbelieving look.

  “I do, Foster. I mean it. Your story…” I close my eyes for a brief second, gathering courage, then focus on him with all the seriousness I can muster so he knows I mean everything I’m about to spew at him. “While I’ve never thought of you as someone other than…well, just you, I can’t deny that something’s shifted since you came back. And it’s not just because of the stupid fake dating thing. There’s something else here. It could just be misplaced lust. It could be something else entirely. I don’t know. I just know I’m feeling something.”

  He stares at me, skepticism evident.

  I don’t blame him. I’m skeptical of this situation too.

  He’s one of my best friends. He’s Foster, for crying out loud. We were never supposed to be anything but friends.

  But I can’t help what I’m feeling, and he can’t help what he’s been feeling.

  So…what are we going to do about it?

  “Life’s too short, remember? We’re supposed to be living, not hiding. This is supposed to be us grabbing life by the balls.”

  “God, Wren.” His lips pull into a smirk. “How many pairs of balls do you have in that bag of yours?”

  I laugh. “Shut up. I’m being serious.”

  We’re both still, the reality of this whole mess we’ve gotten ourselves into sinking in.

  His green eyes roam over my face as he drinks in how much I mean the words I just spoke.

  I do mean them. Something has changed. I don’t know if it means anything like what he might think it does, but I know it means something.

  And I’m open to finding out just what that is.

  I shift under his scrutiny, and his eyes follow my movements, drifting toward my thighs.

  Having his attention focused there…I can feel it in places I never thought I would.

  “Foster?” I say, trying to get him to look away before I do something crazy like let my knees spread wider.

  When his green eyes meet mine, I don’t hold back my gasp upon seeing the fire in them.

  It’s burning hot.

  “I believe you, Birdie.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Now let’s get out of here.”

  “What? Why? We haven’t finished dinner yet.”

  “Well, for one, my pants are soaking wet.”

  He drifts closer to me, and I can smell the pine scent I’ve come to expect from him. I lean down toward him, trying to get a better whiff.

  “And for two, if we don’t leave now, we’re going to cause a bigger scene than we already have.”

  My brows pinch together.

  He shifts even closer, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. If I turned my head just the slightest, I could kiss him.

  I’ve never wanted to turn my head so badly in my entire life.

  “Meaning there’s not much stopping me from dragging you into my lap and kissing you until your lips are swollen, and if I do that, I won’t be able to stop with just a kiss. So, unless you want this entire restaurant to bear witness to me having my way with you, I’d suggest we beat fucking feet while you’re still able to walk.”

  Now it’s my turn to stop breathing.

  I swallow thickly, and he pushes himself away, reaching for the napkins sitting at the end of the table.

  He sits back with this calmness that has me reeling, because did he not hear the words he just spoke?

  “Go wait in the truck, Wren.”

  “W-Wait?”

  His eyes drift to his lap then he gives me a lazy smirk. “I’d rather not put my hard dick on display on our first date. I don’t think that’s going to earn me many points.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Depends on how big it is.”

  Plucking my purse from the bench next to him, I scoot off the table as his jaw hits the floor. I drag another piece of candy from my purse and toss it his way. He catches it midair.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Not dying. That’s grade-A first-date etiquette.”

  * * *

  “I have to admit something I’m not proud of.”

  We’re sitting in the back of his truck, parked in our spot on the beach, no clouds in the sky, the moon bright and lighting our view.

  In this moment, it feels like nothing’s changed in the last four years.

  Like there’s no sudden sexual chemistry between us.

  We’re just Foster and Wren, the world at our fingertips.

  There are no failed marriages, no threats of our businesses getting closed. Life is as easy as it’s ever going to get.

  I kind of miss those days.

  “If it’s that you still wet the bed, I kind of already assumed that.”

  “What?” He laughs. “That is one hundred percent not it.”

  “A likely story.”

  “Anyway”—he shakes his head, still smiling—“this, uh, this isn’t my first time here since I’ve been back.”

  I couldn’t hide the hurt that comes over me if my life depended on it.

  He came here without me? He’s been home for a few weeks and he’s already been back here? In all the time he was away, I didn’t step foot on this side of the beach. It didn’t feel right. It was ours, not mine. Being here without Foster wasn’t something I wanted to experience.

  “In my defense, I assumed you’d come here while I was gone.” He casts his gaze out to the ocean, the night air pushing the water around, waves crashing against the rocks with a splash. “How could you not? This place is our paradise.”

  “You’re right. It is ours.”

  He winces. “I’m picking up your meaning loud and clear. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t answer him right away, mostly because I’m annoyed at him, but I’m also a little annoyed at myself.

  When Foster first left, I was pissed. Beyond angry. I didn’t understand how he could just pack up and leave, marrying some stranger. I knew he had always wanted to explore the world, but I never thought he’d do it and leave us—me—behind like he did.

  Over the years, I came to accept it, understood it a little better.

  He had his chance, and he took it. I can’t blame him for that. There’s no reason I should still be upset with him.

  So why do I still feel the need to protect myself around him? To guard my heart? I was so attached to him, had grown so used to him always being there. Then suddenly he was gone, and I was gutted.

  It felt like he’d taken a piece of me with him.

  I’m scared of feeling that again…which is probably why I keep pushing away all these new feelings I’m having for him; I don’t want to be abandoned again.

  I don’t want to pretend with him, but I’m not ready to completely let my guard down either.

  I wave off his apology. “You shouldn’t be. I guess I’m just sensitive when it comes to you and your…well, your ability to forget about me.”

  His shoulders go rigid, and there’s a shift in the air.

  I can feel the tension brewing.

  “Forget about you?” He scoffs, shakin
g his head. “I hope to god you’re shitting me, Wren.”

  When I don’t answer, he pushes to his feet, pacing the bed of the truck, hands on his hips. Anger and frustration are rolling off him in waves.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said all evening?”

  “Yes?” I don’t know why it comes out as a question, but he doesn’t seem to care either way, continuing his rant.

  “Paid a lick of attention to what I’ve said?” A headshake. “I didn’t forget about you, Wren. I could never forget about you. You’re the reason I left.”

  I am? “I am?”

  “Yes!” he explodes, like it’s the most obvious thing he’s ever said and he can’t believe I’m questioning it.

  I shake my head. “No. You left for you…for her. You didn’t leave because of me. You always wanted to get away from here. That had nothing to do with me.”

  “Bullshit it didn’t. All that crap we talked about before? Idealized kid shit. I didn’t want to leave. I was just running from what I couldn’t have.”

  “Which was?”

  “You.”

  I scoff. “So then what was Layla?”

  “My desperate attempt to move on after you turned me down.”

  “I didn’t turn you down, Foster.”

  He points down. “You did. Right here, right on this fucking beach I told you I loved you. You? You didn’t get it, so I forced myself to move on. I had to move on. I couldn’t keep pining.”

  I jerk my head back at his words and the memory surfaces in my mind.

  That night…it wasn’t just the lack of sleep. It wasn’t my imagination. It was real.

  Foster was actually telling me he loved me, and I blew him off like it was nothing.

  “Oh god…” I mutter. “You did.”

  “Yeah.” He stutters out a breath, bobbing his head up and down. “It crushed me when you didn’t get it.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You told me I was like a brother to you. There was no changing that.”

  “But it has changed.”

  He lifts his brows. “Has it though?”

  “I-I think so,” I say, my voice shaky, full of uncertainty.

  “Think so… See? That’s the problem here. I don’t think I like you—I know my feelings are real. That’s not the case with you.”

  I sigh, annoyed because it’s beginning to seem like we’re talking in circles. “I need time, Foster. You’ve apparently had years to adjust to this. I haven’t. This is all new to me. It scares me. I don’t want to jump into anything. I want to take this slow. I like the pretending thing we’re doing. It takes the pressure off. Can’t we just keep pretending?”

  I beg him with my eyes to understand where I’m coming from on this.

  He nods, conceding. He squats down on his haunches, his face now inches from mine. “Fair enough. Can I ask you something, though?”

  “A question doesn’t guarantee an answer,” I reply, throwing his own words back at him.

  “When I kissed you…what did you feel?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to feel anything. You—”

  He captures my lips with his.

  I’m frozen with surprise, unable to move.

  But when he starts to pull away, I panic and lean toward him, shoving my hands into his hair and holding him close, begging him without words to stay just where he is.

  I want to feel this.

  He takes the invitation for what it is and deepens the kiss, darting his tongue out to trace along my bottom lip. I open for him, meeting his advances with an eagerness of my own. Our tongues swirl together and that rightness I felt the first time his lips were on mine is right there at the forefront again.

  This doesn’t feel foreign. My lips were made for his.

  A shiver racks through me when my back hits the cold truck bed. A tightness coils in my body when Foster’s weight presses down on top of me.

  His knee finds its way between my thighs and the cool night air dances over my exposed skin. He shifts, and I see stars when my clit rubs against his denim-clad thigh. I don’t even try to hide the gasp that escapes.

  He laughs against my mouth, his hand tracing up my rib cage and sliding under my oversized shirt as he trails his lips across my jaw and to my neck. He sucks and nips at me, his teeth scraping so delectably against my skin that I almost don’t realize he’s effortlessly pulled the cup of my bra down until I feel my exposed nipple brush against my shirt. He rolls the puckered bud through his fingers and grunts against me as my hips begin to move of their own accord.

  I’m lying in the bed of Foster’s truck, letting him feel me up and riding his thigh like my life depends on it.

  “What about now? What do you feel?”

  His voice is raw, filled with desire.

  This is killing him, and it’s killing me too.

  “Do you feel my fingers on your body?”

  He kisses my neck again.

  “My lips against your soft-as-sin skin?”

  He shifts, his knee pressing harder against my clit, and I push into him, needing more of what he’s offering.

  “Do you feel the way I fit against you?”

  He presses his lips to mine again, sweeping his tongue inside my mouth for a moment before pulling away.

  “What do you feel, Wren?” he whispers.

  Confused. Consumed. Longing. Apprehension. Timorous.

  I feel so many things.

  Him. Me. Us.

  I feel…

  “Everything.”

  Slice Fourteen

  Foster

  Despite being only twenty-six, I’ve had a lot of hardships in my life.

  That said, I have never struggled with anything more than I did when I had to drop Wren off at her house and walk away.

  It’s been two days and I still can’t stop thinking about our night spent in the bed of my beat-up truck. The way her body responded to mine. Her soft gasps. Her moans. The pure fucking want in her eyes.

  Her whispered pleas when she fell apart beneath me.

  The moment she gave in to whatever it is we’re getting ourselves into.

  It’s all been running through my mind nonstop.

  Having to work next to her every night? Pure fucking torture. We’ve been trying to play things cool, but there’s been no mistaking the shift in our interactions with one another.

  Which is probably why Drew’s cornered me in the back office as I write down my availability for Simon.

  “Did you two bang?”

  “Do you have any sort of filter? Like at all? Any ounce of restraint on the words that fly out of your mouth?”

  “No?” She wrinkles her nose. “What’s the fun in that?” She waves a hand. “Never mind. That’s not the question I’m wanting an answer for. Did you two bang?”

  “What did Wren tell you?”

  “Nothing. Hence why I’m asking you.”

  “She really didn’t say anything?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Huh. Wow.” I cross my arms, leaning against the desk. “I’m surprised. I figured she’d be telling everyone about the wild sex we had on the table here after closing.”

  Drew gasps. “Did you really?”

  “No! Jesus, Drew.”

  “Oh my god, Foster. You can’t just tease a girl with false juicy gossip like that! I could have fainted!”

  “You could have…” I trail off, laughing at her absurdity. “You really are something else.”

  “I know. Winston tells me the same thing all the time.” She juts her lip out. “I’m real bummed neither of you are going to spill any secrets to me. What’s a girl supposed to do for entertainment around here?”

  “I dunno, work?”

  Winston waltzes into the room, plopping his ass down in his old man’s chair.

  “Simmer down, Simon Jr.,” Drew tosses his way before directing her attention back to me. “So you two didn’t bang?”

  “Can you not answer that w
ith me present?” my best friend begs. “I’d rather not hear any of this shit.”

  It was late when I got home from my date with Wren and Winston was still out doing whatever it is he does, so we never got to have that talk he silently promised me.

  I’ve also spent the last few days avoiding him as much as I can.

  I mean, how does one look one’s best friend in the eye when one has felt said friend’s little sister up?

  You don’t.

  “Sometimes I almost forget you and Wren are related. She’s so amazing, and you’re…well, you’re you.” Drew sneers Winston’s way. “You—”

  She grabs at her stomach with one hand and covers her mouth with the other.

  “Give me a break,” Winston mutters. “Gonna puke because of my presence now? So fucking dramatic.”

  She shakes her head, hand still covering her lips. “Surprisingly, it’s not you. Do you guys not smell that? It’s dreadful. Like—”

  He sighs heavily, interrupting her and rolling his eyes. “Let me guess—it’s my bullshit?”

  “Shut the hell up, Winston. Not everything is about you,” she snaps before covering her mouth again. She rushes from the room with panic in her eyes, muttering, “Gonna be sick.”

  “Whatever.” He scoffs at her departure, grabbing a pen and twiddling it between his fingers.

  “Dude, I think she’s really sick.”

  “She’s not. She’s just being Drama Bomb Drew and I called her on it. That’s all.”

  I shake my head. “Whatever, man. Listen, we haven’t gotten a chance to talk since I took Wren on that date and—”

  He holds his hand up. “Save it. I don’t care. Not my business.”

  “But it kind of is, not just because she’s your sister, but because of our history. It’s always been the three of us. And, well, now…”

  “It could just be the two of you.” He shrugs, still rolling the pen between his fingers. “It’s cool, man. I get it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ve suspected for years now that you had the hots for her.”

  “You have?”

  He chuckles. “Dude, you spent countless hours with her on that beach. There’s no way any teenage boy would do that shit if a little bit of lust wasn’t involved.”

  “Fair point. Does it bother you at all? The idea of us?”