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I clear my throat and push past my nerves. “Do you want to come in and share my pizza?” I don't know where I found the courage, but his smile as I ask makes me glad that I did.
“I'm relieved you officially asked because I planned on it anyway.”
I can't help but giggle like that silly schoolgirl finally getting the most popular guy’s attention. God, I’m a mess. “I figured. I just wanted to feel like I had a choice.”
“What you’re saying is that being with me is a choice you made? I like it.”
“Sharing a pizza with you is a choice I'm making,” I qualify.
Ryder leans over, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “I'll take what I can get, for now, Buttons. I'll take what I can get.”
God, that simple kiss by him makes me feel like I won the lottery. I really am insane.
Ryder
I walk in the door of what I know is a basement, but I’m surprised that it looks more like a normal, everyday apartment. She has painted the walls in creams and yellows, making it homey and bright. You have no idea that you’re mostly underground. She has air filters set up, but there’s this warm, lemony aroma in the place that is inviting. It’s really much nicer than the rental I’m spending way too much money on back in Texas. The main room has a kitchen off to one side, with the living room across from it, taking up the majority of the space. The kitchen has a breakfast bar separating the two, which takes the place of a table.
Looking around, I can tell that her apartment completely fits her in that it's pretty and draws you in. It has accents in muted tones of a pale green. It’s in the decorative pillows, the paintings hanging on the walls and the knickknacks on the floating wood shelves. The kitchen has a retro feel to it. The brightest part of the whole place with a vintage, pale yellow fridge with curtains decorated with little chickens on them. She's made it homey and welcoming. I'm not surprised to see one area of the living room has a reading nook with shelves filled with books and an oversized chair and ottoman. Tillie always did like to read.
I place the pizza on the bar. “You have a nice place here, Tillie.”
She looks at me for a second. “No smart-ass remark about me living in my parent's basement?”
“No,” I laugh, shaking my head. “It's a nice apartment. I can tell you've done a lot of work in here. Your stamp is all over it.”
“My stamp? Ryder, you barely know me,” she chastises me.
“You keep saying that, but we went through school together. I know you,” I insist.
“You do not.”
“But I do,” I argue back.
“Ryder,” she huffs.
“Tillie.”
“Fine,” she exhales. “Let's say you do know me. Let's prove it, shall we?" she asks, pulling out plates and setting them on the counter.
“Hit me,” I dare her.
She smirks. “Don't tempt me.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Are you going to give me this so-called test or what? I think you’re afraid I might know a thing or two after all.”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m going to surprise you, Buttons.”
“Doubtful, but let's start with something simple. My full name.”
“That's easy,” I tell her.
“This, coming from the man that could never remember my name in school.”
"Tilda Mae Carter," I announce, watching her frown. I love that I got it right.
“You only know Tilda because of Mrs. Lane,” she argues, shaking her head as she grabs plates and dishes us up two slices each, setting one in front of me. I think she's purposely finding things to do so she doesn't show her genuine reaction.
