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“Did I hear the words ‘ice cream’ because I scream for ice cream,” Roman chimed in.
“Mint chocolate chip,” I answered. “There are two tubs of it in the freezer.”
“Well, I know what we’re having for dessert.”
“It was Jane’s birthday a couple of days ago,” Landon interjected.
“Really?” Roman grinned. “Then this isn’t any old pizza party, it's a birthday pizza party!” He snatched an old flyer off the fridge and folded it into a paper hat. Once he was done with his little origami project, he plopped it onto my head.
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I tried to take it off but he wagged his finger.
“Not until we sing you your song.” With a clap of his hands, he started to sing happy birthday. To my surprise, Landon joined in.
I could feel my whole face becoming a bright shade of red. I was so hot and bothered that I feared my skin would melt right off my skull.
“Stop,” I groaned. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Happy birthday to youuuuu!” Roman held the syllable for an unnaturally long period of time and it eventually turned into a howl that sounded very, very real.
Maybe he’s not kidding about the whole wolf thing, came that voice in my head that still believed in fairytales.
Don’t be ridiculous, I responded. Roman is not a werewolf.
Suddenly, Roman picked me up off the ground and spun me around. Things were starting to get pretty dizzy before he finally eased me onto one of the dining room chairs. “Were you trying to make me throw up?”
“Hey, if you get sick, then that just means more pizza for me,” Roman said with a shrug.
“Roman likes to overdo it sometimes, so if he ever gives you a hard time, you just let me know and I’ll be sure to take care of it.” Landon had this completely serious expression on his face, like he meant every word he was telling me and, honestly, he probably did. I wouldn’t put it past him to beat the living daylights out of Roman if I ever asked him to. He seemed like the kind of guy that would do anything to protect the people that he loved.
“Got it,” I answered. “Which means, if he eats all the pizza, you have my permission to kick his ass.”
“Hey! I didn’t agree to this!” cried Roman.
“Well, too late. My apartment, my rules,” I said, as I grabbed my first slice of pizza. It was just as delicious as always. “It’s been a while since I’ve had pizza like this. It’s been mostly Ramen noodles for me since college. Working at the hotel isn’t exactly the best paying job.” I didn’t know why but I was already opening up to these guys. Normally, I kept things to myself and internalized my problems but with them, I felt comfortable to express whatever it was that cluttered my mind.
“Why don’t you do something different? Something that’ll make you happy?” When I looked up at Landon he was eating his pizza with a fork and a knife.
“Yeah, ignore him. He was born ass-backward,” Roman said, when he saw the confusion on my face. “I tried to tell him that it was weird for him to eat pizza that way but he doesn’t like getting his fingers dirty.”
I immediately wondered whether that applied to everything or just food, because I wouldn’t mind if he got a little dirty with me.
Jeez, what has gotten into me? Seriously, I’m not usually this horny but there’s just something about these men that gets my panties all in a bunch.
More like they get your panties soaking wet, came a teasing whisper at the back of my head.
I pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on the conversation we were having before I allowed my mind to wander into uncharted territory. “Why?” I asked. “Well, because a degree in English hasn’t gotten me much of anything. I’ve tried to apply for more writing-based jobs but they all want like 1-2 years of experience. How am I supposed to get any experience if no one will hire me.”
“It’s a catch-22.”
“Tell me about it,” I started on my second slice. “So, I’m working on a novel, in hopes that self-publishing might pan out. I really don’t have very high hopes for it but at least it keeps me busy.”
“Do you think we could read some of what you wrote?” asked Landon.
“Oh, it’s nowhere near finished.”
“I’m sure that it’s much better than you think it is. We are often our own worst critics.”
