Despite my complaints about delivering the pizza, somewhere in my stomach, tiny little butterflies begin to stretch their wings. I hate to admit it, but I’m excited to see Ryan again, which is ridiculous since he was bumping lovelies with another woman last time.
My phone rings before I’m even out of the driveway. “Hurry back, Andi. You’re the only delivery girl scheduled for tonight. No dangling around.”
“Dawdling.”
“Are you being sarcastic with me?”
“No,” I say. “It’s dawdling, not dangling.”
“Whatever it is, don’t do it.”
No problem. I don’t have a show tonight, and I could use a cash infusion. Scratch that—I might have a show tonight, but only if Ryan is putting on act II of his performance.
I drive across the city, and traffic is lighter than normal—either that, or the thoughts of Ryan opening the door in nothing but that towel distract me for the entire journey. I arrive in no time at all, and by the time I park, my girl parts are tingling like a pack of Pop Rocks.
I flip the mirror down as I turn onto Ryan’s street and check out my appearance. The sight of my face shocks me straight back to reality. In my fantasies, I’m not wearing my red Peretti’s Pizza polo shirt. Nobody looks irresistible in a Peretti’s Pizza shirt, not even Angela, and she has a rack a Playboy Bunny would envy.
Maybe I have an extra tank top in my back seat. I often keep a black one there because it’s simple to throw on with jeans and I can wear it from work to a show. Practical Andi. I fumble around in the back seat one-handed after easing my car to a stop, all the while dreaming of Ryan pulling one strap down, and then the next, until—shit!
My car lurches forward, and not on purpose.
Crap, crap, crap. I’m so flustered from my daydreams that I forgot to put the vehicle into park. I climb out to assess the damage; luckily, it appears I’ve only run into the curb, and not the beautiful black Ferrari three feet ahead of me. My front bumper has fallen off, but this is okay. The car is old and ready to disintegrate.
I slide back into my front seat and quickly squish into the tank top. I’m no Angela Jolie in Tomb Raider, but anything is better than the collar. Better, I think, glancing in the mirror.
Though not quite good enough.
As my spirits sink, I briefly debate driving away to Mexico, just so I don’t have to face Ryan. My life suddenly feels a little bit sad. I’m bringing smiley face pizzas to the most famous hockey player in the league, and here I am scrubbing sauce off my black tank top.
The more I think about it, the more this idea makes sense. I have a car without a front bumper, a piping hot pizza, and four dollars and sixty-eight cents in my cup holder. I hear Mexico is less expensive than Los Angeles, so all systems are a go.
I get out of the car, carrying the pizza, and then the worst happens.
My car scoots forward again. It’s in park, but apparently the brakes are tired. The whole thing just sort of rolls a few inches down the hill and bumps into the back of the Ferrari.
Mexico it is.
Then my damn conscience kicks in, and I sigh. I will offer to pay for any damage, and I will be indebted to Ryan Pierce forever—I suppose there are worse things in life. Making my way toward the house, I find myself desperately hoping Ryan is not having wild sex with his girlfriend. I can handle him having sex and I can handle apologizing for the dent, but I can’t do both at once.
CHAPTER 7
Andi
There are no screams, yelps, meows, or any noises of that nature coming out of Ryan’s house. I hold my hand poised above the door to knock and blink, hardly able to believe my luck.
I use this moment of peaceful quiet to run through my speech.
Hi Ryan, I’m sorry, but I was fantasizing about you while driving here. It’s a compliment, really. In fact, I was so distracted, I forgot to brake and bumped into your car. Anyway, here’s your pizza! Don’t worry, I threw in some extra breadsticks.
The door opens mid-conversation with myself. I realize I haven’t knocked, and this is embarrassing. Instead of my well-rehearsed speech, I’m now speechless. Somehow, my mouth decides to squeak. I can’t explain it.
“Ryan?” I extend the box. “Pizza.”
“Andi?” He raises one of those dark eyebrows up to where his curling locks flop over his forehead. Instead of a bare torso and a towel, this time he wears a gray sweater. It looks so soft that I almost reach out and touch it. The wool top flows into a flannel pair of pants, and…oh, boy. There it is: the very subtle outline of his manhood. I want it. All of it.
“It’s Andi, right?” he asks again. He peeks in the little brown baggie on top. “Thanks for the Parmesan.”
By the time I look up, my face has turned Peretti Pizza shirt red. I nod and go mute. It’s taking all my willpower not to look at his personal hockey stick.
“Here you go.” He hands over a wad of bills. “Hope this covers it.”
The money doesn’t register, which is saying a lot. I like money, I really do, and I’m sure he left another big tip, but you know what’s even bigger? The thing in his pants. Wowzers.
“I hope you enjoy your pizza,” I say, realizing far too late that I’m speaking to his crotch. I force my eyes up to his face and cough. “Thanks for ordering with Peretti’s. We’ll see you next time.”
Ryan’s face now brightens with a devilish grin as I peek upward, his lips looking so soft and primed for kissing. “I sure hope so. The pizza last week was fantastic.”
I should leave now. He’s waiting for me to leave but, for some reason, I stay. Even worse? My eyelid goes ahead and winks all on its own.
“It’s good to see you again,” I say, praying my eye lays off on the winking thing. My brain has nothing to do with it, but for some reason, my face—more specifically my eye—feels like flirting with Ryan Pierce. The Ryan Pierce. “I thought you’d ordered just to see me again.”
He tips that beautiful face of his back and laughs, a real laugh that has me grinning along with him. Then he leans against the door, and one scan of his torso tells me there are rock solid abs underneath that sweater. “I was hoping you’d show up, and in case you were wondering, I got your name from the receipt last time.”
“Oh, I thought you’d stalked me.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not my area of expertise.”
The reminder of him paying last week registers, and I recall his generous tip. “You tipped far too much last week,” I say. “It was my mistake forgetting to collect payment. Here, this one’s on me.” I thrust the cash back into his hands, as if this makes everything better. “Please.”
He reaches out, his large hands closing around mine. A zing of electricity shoots through me, even more exciting than the pile of bills in my hands. “You’re worth every penny.”
“Oh.”
Then his face goes slack. “Christ, that sounds—I’m sorry, Andi. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I wave a hand. “So why the smiley face on the pizza? Seems…unusual.”
“To annoy my brother,” he says. “My mom started the tradition when we were kids. This is my brother’s house,” he adds. “Although the woman taking orders at your restaurant didn’t seem very excited about it, so I promise to go for the regular sausage next time.”
“That’s just Angela. She thinks smiley face pizzas are too much rainbow-farting-unicorns bullshit.”
Now Ryan really laughs. He sets the pizza on a table just inside the door, his eyes dancing when he faces me again. “And what do you think?”
“I thought you were using it to get laid.” I shrug. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Why would you think that?”
I raise an eyebrow. “No comment. In fact, I should be leaving now.”
I make it halfway down the stairs before he calls after me.
“So, Andi,” he says, and I look over my shoulder at him. “Would you like to come inside and have a bite of pizza with me?”
I turn around, halfway down the front lawn. “Me?”