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And I’d really like to shove my fist up in your face, I think, but it’s suspiciously silent behind me. I know Ted is hanging on my every word, just waiting for the opportunity to fire me. And it’s not because he hates me or I’m unreliable or bad at my job—he thinks he’s enabling me. He dislikes that I’m not doing more with my life than serving pizza day in and day out.
Unfortunately, my own options are limited. I need this job to pay my rent. And I don’t have the money to buy a car seeing how I sold the one I had before moving to New York a couple of years back.
I’m stuck—for now.
Unless I want to move in with my parents—which I don’t.
The weight of Ted’s stare anchors my back, so I grab the pizza cutter and start slicing, my movements short and clipped. The guys are smirking, enjoying every second of this.
“You’re so good at this,” Curly says.
“Yeah, she’s really good with her hands,” another guy chimes in.
The rest of them snicker.
Stale alcohol scent fills the air around the table. These guys are hammered.
I roll my eyes and ignore them, but just as I’m about to leave, Curly reaches behind me and tries to squeeze my ass. I side step his attempt, though my heart is racing and my skin is boiling all the same.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a sideways smile that reeks of cheap beer. “I’m an ass guy and yours is perfect. I couldn’t resist.”
I’m done.
Snatching a nearby glass of ice water, I dump it into Curly’s lap.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he recoils, hands in the air as his friends cackle.
Heading behind the counter, I tug off my apron and toss it at Ted. “I’m leaving. Now.”
“You know,” Ted says with hard look in my direction, “If you worked in an office or laboratory or something, I doubt this kind of thing would happen.”
My middle finger is cocked and ready, but I remind myself how much I need this job, so I keep it in my holster.
“Just sayin’,” Ted adds.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say so that he knows I’m quitting this shift, not my gig.
“Wait. Here.” He piles a few boxes of cold pizza—the pizza no one wanted—into my arms. It’s always the same—eggplant and broccoli. I have no idea why he even makes it. Maybe he just likes the smell? Ted’s weird like that. But it’s free dinner, so whatever. “I’ll have a word with those boys.”
“Can you snap their photo and put it on the wall of shame while you’re at it?”
“We have a wall of shame?” He scratches his salt-and-pepper temple.
“No, but we should.”
I step out into the biting wind and push against it as I make my way across the parking lot and to my place. There’s a Tacoma in front of Alec’s place—it’s been there since this morning and I noticed it had North Carolina plates. I’m guessing it’s his, and there’s a light on in his living area, so he must be home.
Not that I’ve seen him.
Not since that night.
I know doctors work weird hours, but it’s odd we’ve yet to cross paths, not once.
Then again, I’ve been purposefully avoiding him, rushing out of the house as if the place is on fire, rushing home like I accidentally left the curling iron on.
Maybe he’s doing the same to me.
Maybe he’s come to the same conclusion I have—that what happened was a mistake.
As I step into the warmth of my apartment and look around, I’m staving off thoughts of his arms around me, his warm skin flush against mine, the ungrounded electricity rushing through me with his touch. It was fun in the moment, but it’s over.
I’m content in my cozy, imperfect little life.
I’ve got a job, a place to call home, and all the soggy eggplant pizza a girl could want.
Things could be worse.
I’m about to sit down on the couch and devour my dinner when I notice a red thong on the coffee table. Then I spot two half-empty wine glasses and a trail of clothes leading to my roommate’s door.
On cue, there’s a loud female moan, and then some intense banging that rattles the pictures on the wall.
Oh, Mad …
I haven’t even seen her since she came home from her trip to Bangor, but apparently things are still going strong with Joe. Or maybe not. Mad’s never been one to hold back during sex. Even lousy sex—everyone in our dorm heard it. She has a mouth made for porn films and she’s not afraid to use it.
Grabbing the TV remote, I flip to some reality dating show everyone seems to be obsessed with these days, and I turn up the volume.
I’m stuffing my mouth with pizza, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, when a text pops up from my mom.
