“Ry, where’s the pizza?” my brother calls from the living room. “We’re hungry. Get your ass in here.”
As I turn to head back inside, the sound of a car starting on the street stops me in my tracks. That can’t be her car. It hardly sounds like a motor vehicle at all; it’s more like a fucking tractor with a digestion problem.
Sure enough, it’s hers. The delivery girl—Andi is her name, judging by the receipt—is behind the wheel. Her vehicle clunks as it pulls away from the curb, spluttering black smoke that’s going to kill someone. She’s hunched over the wheel, looking like she’s seen a ghost, doing her best not to make eye contact with me.
Scratching my head, I walk back inside, still not quite sure what just happened. All I know is that a few minutes ago, I was taking a shower and the doorbell rang, so I put on a towel, thinking I was the only one home. I came downstairs expecting to find my normal delivery guy: a fifteen-year-old pimply-faced dude, the sort of kid who doesn’t care if I’m in a towel or a fucking suit because all they want is a few bucks to buy more video games.
So when I find the pizza waiting for me, I’m not surprised, because I ordered a pizza.
However, I am surprised to find her. She’s every man’s fantasy, a gorgeous woman—big green eyes, soft lips quirked upward in a smile, a curvy little body underneath that horrible red company shirt. She’s holding a pizza, and it’s for me.
By God, I love pizza, and I love beautiful women, and there on my doorstep were two of my favorite things. I must have done something right in this world to deserve that much beauty in one evening.
What I don’t understand is why she seemed so surprised to see me. Isn’t it her job to deliver pizza? Meaning she shouldn’t be shocked when someone opens the door to collect said pizza? Sure, I wasn’t wearing a ton of clothes, but I didn’t show her my junk or anything—I’m not a complete animal, nor am I a nudist.
Then she high-fived my chest and things officially turned weird, but she was adorable, which made the whole thing cute. I’d be willing to bet if she took off that stupid red polo shirt, which I’m sure her boss probably makes all the staff wear, she’d make for one helluva knockout.
The way her legs filled out those tight jeans, the curve of her ass as she leaned forward to hand over the pizza…let me just say, I’m not sorry I looked as she walked away.
I am sorry, however, that I’m stuck waiting in the entryway for a minute because of my reaction from her touch. How long has it been since I’ve had sex? Weeks? A month maybe?
Whatever the count, I’m long frigging overdue for a good roll in the sack, and I’m ready just thinking about her again—that whole delicious, irresistible package, and I don’t mean the pizza.
I daydream, remembering how her bright pink lips had twisted into a horrified sort of smile at the sight of the towel, while I wished I could wipe that smirk off her face with my lips, drag a kiss down her neck until she couldn’t help but follow me inside. I lean against the doorframe, the image ripe with possibility.
Screw the pizza; I want the delivery girl.
And that says something, because I fucking love pizza.
“Ryan, bring the pizza inside!” It’s my brother again. “We’re starving.”
Since he scored his latest deal, Lawrence believes he’s the king of the world. Sports agent extraordinaire, my big brother likes to think he can yell at me the way he used to when we were kids. Most days, I’d refuse to do what he said on principle, but not when it comes to pizza. I’m starving too, and my desire for the delivery girl only frustrates me more. I think I understand why people stress eat.
I’m frigging stress eating. Pathetic.
I round the corner and come face to face with two half-clothed individuals, my brother and his fiancée. I shield my eyes with a hand. “Aw, shit, you guys! What did I tell you about screwing each other in the living room when I’m home? I’m only here for a few weeks. Get ahold of yourselves.”
My brother grins. “Look at her, bro. My fiancée is hot. We’re in love.”
We’re this, we’re that. The last six months I’m not sure my brother has used the word I once. See, my brother used to be a big, huge, hairy, ugly, fatso dick. He wasn’t actually fat—he prides himself on looking all shiny and slick—but the other parts are true.
Then he met Lilia, and he changed overnight. It’s almost cute, but I’ve said the word cute so many times in the last five minutes while thinking about that delivery girl that I’m about to hand over my man card.
I’m using the word cute, and I’m stress eating. If I don’t get laid in the next week, I’m retiring from life. I’m serious. It’s that urgent.
My brother is lucky, however. Their relationship works because Lilia’s an angel, pure and simple. She’s perfect for Lawrence. How she puts up with his temper, I don’t know, but it seems to work for them. Maybe they screw enough that he doesn’t get angry anymore. Stranger things have happened.
Plus, she’s gorgeous—in a platonic sort of way. Lilia’s not my type, which works out well, since she’s exactly what my brother needs.
“Here,” I say, handing the pizza over and taking a seat on the couch. I reach for a paper towel in the center of the table, averting my eyes as my brother and his fiancée double-check to make sure their clothing is straightened out. “I didn’t know you guys were going to be home.”
“Us? We live here,” Lawrence says. “This is my house.”
“Sorry, Ry,” Lilia says with an easy smile. “We didn’t realize you were here. Otherwise we might have taken things elsewhere.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”
Lilia laughs, looking completely unapologetic while running a finger along her soon-to-be-husband’s cheek. It’s sickening. “You might have a point.”
I take a slice of the pizza and shovel it into my mouth, shaking my head as I do so. One thing I love about Lilia is that she’s unapologetic about what she wants and who she is. It’s probably the reason she can go head to head with my asshole brother and put him in his place if he steps out of line. Like I’ve said before, they’re perfect together.
If Lilia wants sex, she is going to get it, wherever she wants it, whether I am home or not.
“I think you terrified the delivery girl,” I say. “She mumbled and smacked me in the chest. I think there were leaves in her hair. She probably heard your sexfest.”
Lilia wrinkles her nose. “Oh no, poor thing.”
“Poor thing?” Lawrence raises an eyebrow and then reaches over, pinching his fiancée’s butt playfully. “If the sounds coming out of your mouth were anything to go by, she got quite the show.”
“Lawrence!” She swats at his hand, but there’s that post-sex, shit-eating grin on her face. “Sorry, Ry. We’re not used to someone else being around the house. We’ll be better, I promise.”
“Maybe,” Lawrence says, a pained look on his face, as if he doesn’t really want to be better. “But I don’t think that’s necessary.”