words a bit when she described the crowds, and it bothered him. He could see how terrified she was. It was written in every muscle. She tensed up like she was preparing for war. Maybe the gladiator reference made sense to her. She was preparing for war—a war with herself and her anxiety. He did want her to try. Her doctor told her she should try things, but if it was too much, he’d pack up, everyone else be damned.
A knock pounded on the door, and she jumped up to get it. He let her, since she seemed so intent on getting away from him. She couldn’t run for long, though, and that pleased him. He loved a good chase, loved catching his prey, holding them down, and showing them how much they pleased him.
He wanted her. More than he had anyone else. He admitted it to himself. Now he just had to come to terms with what it meant if he did chase her, if he caught her. Becca knew him well enough to know he’d never settle down with one woman because he did get bored so easily. He’d love to promise her otherwise, but he knew himself as well as she did. He’d get bored and hurt her.
Was he willing to risk that? Every part of him that loved her said no, but the predator in him said hell, yes. He wanted her, friendship be damned.
She came back carrying four pizza boxes, a two liter of Coke, and some plates and cups. “I ordered you your nasty banana peppers and anchovies, so don’t touch mine.”
“Mushrooms, bacon, and spicy Italian sausage.”
She flashed him a smile. “You remember that?”
“You remember how I like my pizza.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been on the phone with you enough while you’re eating it that it’s burned into my memory. I think I might have ordered pizza once while talking to you.”
“I have an excellent memory.” Actually, he didn’t. That was why he kept such detailed spreadsheets about his books. He knew if he didn’t, he’d screw storylines up. He barely remembered his own family’s birthdays, but with Rebecca, he always remembered things. From her favorite flower, which he sent her every year on her birthday, to how she ordered her pizza.
He frowned, contemplating that. It was odd. Why did he remember the smallest facts about her, things she may have only said in passing, like how she loved the old movie If A Man Answers? They’d been talking about movies, and she’d told him it was one of her favorites. He’d found it and sent it to her for Christmas a few years ago.
Babby would tell him why. He could hear his grandmother’s voice cackling in his head, but he refused to admit it. The old woman would be enjoying this whole mess.
The pizza box landing on his lap startled him out of his strange thoughts. He took the plate and the full cup of pop she gave him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She sat back down in her position in the middle of the stack of books. She opened her own box and snatched a piece, not bothering with a plate. “Mmm, so good.”
“Hungry?”
“Starved.” She stuffed more pizza in her mouth, and he laughed as he started in on his own box. Starved wasn’t even the word. The last time either of them had eaten had been around four o’clock or so. He’d passed out soon after that and slept straight. It was good pizza, but he’d still take Papa John’s over it.
“Do we have to do all of this tonight?” He eyeballed the mess surrounding her. She’d driven for hours and had to be dead tired.
“Most of it.” She put the pizza box aside and pulled over the next box she had stacked up beside her. “You have to go over to the event location tomorrow night and get your table set up.”
“We have to go, you mean.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, like those of a deer who’s just realized the headlights are coming for her and there’s no time to move to safety. “No, I mean you. You don’t need me to help you set up.”
“Becca.” He kept his tone patient. “Do you think I have any idea of how to do that? Do I just pile the books up on one end? Where does all this stuff go? I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“And I know any more about it than you do?” Her eyes dared him to say