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“Na. There’s a party just up the road,” I lied. “Our friend asked us to meet him here cause he got lost.”
“Yeah. Some addresses are hard to find. Especially when they go off the beaten track,” he replies, taking my word for it and opening his car door to hand me our order.
The pizza boxes feel warm in the palms of my hands when I take them off him, handing them over to Caleb. Pretending to retrieve my wallet from my back pocket, I reared back my fist and smashed it into his face, knocking the guy out cold.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Caleb shouts, peering down at the guy passed out on the seat as I shake my wrist. Damn, that guy had a jaw of fucking steel.
“You trying to get us caught?”
“Relax, would you. Always so dramatic.”
I opened the trunk of my car for duct tape to bind him.
“Dramatic! Seriously? You punch out the pizza guy, and I’m the one being dramatic.”
“Just shut up and help me already.”
“Explain!”
“Mica’s not going to answer the door to just anyone, is he, jackass. Jesus. And they say out of the two of us, you’re the smarter one.”
He thinks about it briefly before I strip the shirt off the guy’s back.
“You’re going to give him a good tip for this, right?”
“Of course. What kind of a person do you take me for?” I joke.
He shakes his head.
“Let’s tie him to that tree over there before he wakes up and shits his pants,” I order, grabbing him by the arms to pull him towards the field and out of sight. Thank fuck it’s pitch black out here.
After binding him to the tree, I lift the shirt off the ground, throwing it at Caleb and telling him to put it on.
“I am not putting my arms where another man’s sweaty pits have been,” he argues.
“You can shower later. Don’t be such a pussy and put it on.”
He reluctantly removes his shirt, putting the other one over his head. I’m trying so hard not to laugh right now, but the look on his face makes it too damn hard to resist.
“Fuck you,” Caleb seethes, holding up his middle finger. “This shirt fucking stinks, man.”
“Stop whining like a little bitch. It won’t be for long.”
“You owe me big time for this.”
I lift my phone to take his photo when his big body lunges at me, attempting to rip the phone free from my hands, but I’m too quick for him. I always was.
“Cut out the shit, or you’re doing this on your own,” he grumps, walking away.
“You forgot something.” Bending, I pick up the pizza logoed hat. “The lesser our chances of being recognized, the better,” I remind him.
He snaps the cap from my hands, putting it on.
“Suits you.”
“Fuck you,” he drawls.
“Hey, if killing people for a living doesn’t pan out, you can pull off the look to get a job delivering pizza for a living,” I joke.
