The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,10

to eat pizza, have sex, and then get back to our own lives, then you might be my best friend in the world.”

I grin. “Does this mean you’ll have a slice?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Next,” a man behind the counter calls. We step up.

Before I can open my mouth, Amelia orders. “I’ll have a salad, no cheese, dressing on the side.”

“All we got is a side salad,” the man says, punching the register. “Not exactly our specialty, though.”

“That’s fine. I’m not that hungry.” She thumps her magazines, folders, thermos and package on the counter to rifle through one of her bags.

“I’ve got this,” I tell her.

She ignores me, handing a five-dollar bill to the cashier.

I don’t mind playing the boyfriend for a night, because I know this isn’t real, but she seems to want to keep things separate. If there weren’t a long line behind us, I’d argue with her.

“I’ll take two slices of the Meat Lover’s,” I say, “and one cheese. You can put the cheese from her salad on that.”

Amelia gapes at me. “Three slices? With extra cheese? They’re the size of your head.”

“Lay off.” I rub my stomach. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“It’s six o’clock.”

I shrug and pay for my pizza. She picks up all her things again, balancing the plastic salad container on top. Each of my slices is the size of the paper plate it’s on, so I stack them. Since our hands are ridiculously full, I grab a plastic bag from the cashier.

“You have too much shit.” I put my food on the seat of a chained-up bicycle and toss her thermos in the bag along with her divorce papers, magazines, the package, and anything else I can fit. “What do you need all this for?”

“It’s work.”

I hook the bag on my elbow and get my plates. “Damn. I forgot to order a drink.”

“I’m not waiting in line again.”

“These places charge double what a bodega does anyway. Let’s walk.”

As we head down the block, I take an enormous bite of the first slice, chewing as Amelia picks out a few rogue pieces of feta. Finally, she drizzles dressing on the lettuce and eats a forkful.

“That’s disgusting,” I say.

She widens her eyes. “Salad? Do you have any idea how many calories are in one of those slices, let alone three?”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Hardly. You must find ways to burn it off.”

“I do,” I say, leaning toward her a little. “And I love to get creative about it.”

I’m trying to get her to blush again, but to her credit, she doesn’t. “So do I,” she says. “I’ve been doing yoga for years, but sometimes nothing hits the spot like a few hours of straight-up, hardcore, sweaty cardio.”

I don’t know where to start with that. First, I’m picturing Amelia in naked downward dog, the only yoga position I know. She’s not even bent over a second before I’m coming up behind her to cash in on that sweaty, hardcore cardio. I forget all about my pizza, and a slice slides over the edge. I fumble, barely catching it before it hits the ground.

Amelia doesn’t even pretend to hide her laugh. “Smooth.”

Christ, I need to get this woman in bed STAT. I can’t decide if I want her to be this sassy between the sheets, or if I want her to drop the façade and submit. A little of both. This might be an all-nighter. “I hope you don’t have an early morning planned,” I say.

“I might, but it won’t affect tonight.”

God. Damn. I’m dangerously close to skipping ahead and booking us the nearest hotel. Luckily, we reach a bodega before I can Google where that might be. I run inside to grab beer and, with a bolt of lightning genius, condoms, just in case she doesn’t have any. I stick two beers under my arm and return to Amelia, who’s still picking at her salad. I can see by her figure she was telling the truth about yoga. She’s thin and fit, but despite her ample breasts and ass, she could use some more meat on her bones. I snatch the salad from her hands.

“Hey,” she squeals, leaping toward me.

I toss it in a nearby trashcan. “That was fine as an appetizer, but now you need to eat. I offer her the cheese slice from the bottom of my pizza tower. “Here.”

“That’s yours.”

“I ordered it for you.”

“But I told you—”

“You don’t eat carbs, I know. Can you make an exception for me? I got you a