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“I want you to eat at least that much, yeah. You want it warmed up? I can put it in the oven. I’m really good at heating up pizza.”
I thought he might seriously be bragging about that, which kind of made me want to say yes just out of pity, but my stomach didn’t have that kind of time, so I shook my head. “Cold is better.” That was true anyway.
He stacked another three slices onto his plate and took one of the glasses, dropping down across from me and digging right in like he needed the fuel. Guy his size, probably he did.
“You shouldn’t have waited,” I told him, feeling guilty for sleeping so long.
He laughed. “I didn’t. The bottom one’s half gone. I can’t last too long without eating, my body goes crazy. Yours must too, you’ve gotta burn what, a thousand calories at practice?”
I shrugged. Coach T was a big carbo-load guy, but I tuned out his nutrition speeches just like I did when he talked about getting your parents to sign up for booster shit. Some things were just never going to be fucking relevant to me, so why waste brain space.
Once he finished his first slice, I finally picked mine up and took a bite. I tried to eat slowly, but it was too damn good. I wasn’t picky about food, but some pizza, like the place by Walker’s, the sauce was way too sweet. This was all garlicky, and the crust was thick but not too thick, and I figured I could probably eat another three slices no problem.
I remembered this place because it was where you got to have pizza parties with the class in middle school after you finished ten books from the reading list. Except sure, the reward was free pizza, but you still had to pay for drinks and a tip, and that wasn’t in the budget and reading ten books didn’t make it magically appear. So I’d always read nine books and then quit. And eventually, when teachers called me lazy for never making it to ten, I quit reading altogether.
Funny how I’d always kind of held a grudge against the pizza place and convinced myself it probably sucked anyway when they were just over there tossing homemade crust and making my dream sauce. Pretty standard for me. Shut down anything you couldn’t have like it was poison forever.
I glanced over at the bookshelves again and almost laughed out loud. The Beast probably had himself a pizza party every fucking day. “You really like to read, huh?”
He seemed to hesitate between bites like he thought maybe it was a trick question. To be fair, I had kind of made fun of him the day I saw him reading in the library after school. Probably I made fun of him plenty when we were kids too, I just couldn’t remember. If I hadn’t, sure as hell somebody had.
“I do,” he finally agreed.
“Why?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, giving the question some thought. I really liked how he let his brain work so slow even though it was so big. Didn’t make me feel like I was always trying to keep up. “I like spending time with people I like, I guess. I don’t like very many people.”
“People in books aren’t real,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “They’re real when you’re reading. That’s close enough.”
I thought about that, and I guess it was kind of true. Not every book, though. Not the bullshit dog book I was still shoving through for English.
“You read all those books?” I asked him, nodding toward his messy shelves that I guess weren’t messy the longer I looked, they were just… full. “Or it’s like a library where you go looking around for something good and check one out?”
He smiled a little. “More like the second one. I bring them home faster than I can read them. There’s a bookstore up the street, I eat dinner there a lot,” he said, like that explained it, like you had to buy a book just because you got near one. “You like to read? You can…” He gestured towards the shelves with a burst of excitement. “Take anything you want.”
“I don’t know. When I was a kid, maybe. I can’t concentrate like that anymore. Takes me forever to read shit for school.”
“Because all the books they assign are terrible. I have way better taste.”
I tried to picture myself grabbing a book off one of the shelves and curling up on his big fat couch like some brainiac loser that read for fun. I guess it wasn’t impossible to imagine.
It was a lot easier to picture him sitting there on the center cushion while I rode his dick though. Or sprawled out the length of it over his lap while he smacked my ass.
I squirmed in my seat, a little embarrassed to be thinking that shit right in front of him, and embarrassed again when my ass hurt when I moved around. Spanked because I wouldn’t come to dinner when Daddy said. That was completely fucking insane, and I loved everything about it.
“This is really good,” I told him, feeling awkward, being awkward, picking another slice up off my plate. “Thanks.”
“Sure. I probably order out too much, but…” He shrugged. “I like pizza. I won’t just feed you junk, though. I’ll make you real food soon.”
“You don’t have to make me anything,” I said automatically, even though inside I was screaming at myself to shut up because yeah,I wanted that.
“I like to cook,” he told me, and that looked true enough, what with all the supplies. “I mean, I’m not great at it, but I like… following directions.”
“God you’re boring,” I laughed, but it wasn’t an insult and I didn’t think he actually took it that way.
“I know.”
