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Brooke: How’d it go?
Dylan: Fine, but I’m starving. Wanna help me eat 100 pizzas?
Brooke looked at the clock, and then at the stack of ungraded exams sitting next to her. She still felt a tug of dread at the thought of facing Dylan, but he was her guest, not to mention a friend she didn’t get to see very often. She couldn’t just leave him to eat his weight in pizza alone at her apartment. Time to nut up and get this over with.
Brooke: Order the pizzas and I’ll be home as soon as I can. Menu’s on the fridge.
Chapter Six
Brooke stayed on campus working for another half hour, figuring she might as well wait until rush-hour traffic died down a little. No sense leaving right away only to spend an extra twenty minutes in her car at a dead standstill.
It was a perfectly good excuse for dawdling that had nothing whatsoever to do with her nervousness at facing Dylan again.
When she finally let herself into the apartment a little after seven, she found him kicked back on her couch with a pair of pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer on the coffee table in front of him. He’d changed into his sweatpants and glasses already, and it struck her as profoundly unfair that it somehow made him even more attractive.
“Hey!” He got up to greet her, wiping his hands on a napkin. She could tell he was tired from the boneless way he moved and the fact that his smile beamed with only seventy-five percent of its usual wattage.
Brooke hung her bag on the hook by the door. “Sorry I’m so late.”
“No worries. I already set out a plate for you, and there’s more beer in the fridge so don’t worry about running out.”
When she turned around, he threw his arms open and hugged her so hard he lifted her off the ground a little. “Wow, you sure give a lot of hugs.” Not that she was complaining. Dylan’s hugs were amazing. “And I see you’ve already made a solid start on the beer.”
She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and there were three empty bottles lined up on the table. Which likely explained the enthusiastic greeting.
Dylan handed her a beer when she followed him over to the couch. “You still like veggie pizza, right? I got you one to go with my meat lover’s.”
“Veggie’s great.”
The pizza was just the way she liked it: that sweet spot halfway between hot and cold where the cheese didn’t try to slide off and the crust had gained some structural integrity. Brooke filled her plate and collapsed on the couch next to Dylan.
“Long day?” he asked, giving her a sideways look.
“Long enough,” she said around a mouthful of pizza. She finished chewing and swallowed. “How about you? How was the shoot?”
Leaning forward, he snagged his beer off the table. “Not too bad. I’m glad to be done and off for the rest of the week though.” He took a drink and pushed a box toward her on the coffee table. “There’s wings too.”
“Extra hot?” Brooke asked.
“Always.”
She helped herself to a chicken wing. “There’s more hot sauce in the pantry if you want it, ’cause I know you do.” They were both addicted to the stuff. Growing up in Louisiana had given them a taste for it, as well as a long-standing tradition of trying to outdo each other.
“Aw, yes. You know me too well.” Dylan hopped up and headed to the kitchen to check out the pantry. “Only three kinds of hot sauce, Brooke? You’re falling down on the job in your old age.”
“Hey!” she protested around a mouthful of pizza. “I’m three months younger than you!”
“Hot damn, you’ve got Tiger Sauce!” he exclaimed from the pantry.
“Of course.”
He returned to the couch with all three bottles and proceeded to slather a chicken wing with Tiger Sauce, which had been their old standby growing up. “Mmmm,” he sighed after he’d taken a bite. “Tastes just like home.”
“The pizza’s delicious,” Brooke said around a mouthful of cheesy crust. “Thanks for ordering it.”
Dylan acknowledged her gratitude with a wave of his hand as he reached for another chicken wing and drenched it in hot sauce. He’d finished about three-quarters of the meat pizza already and wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. He seemed determined to make up his calorie deficit with a vengeance.
“Do you always eat like this after a water cut?” Brooke asked.
