Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Straight.” I smiled. “Happily engaged, too.”
“Couldn’t she have taught you how to use chopsticks?”
“Oh, she tried. But once I realized I couldn’t vacuum food into my mouth fast enough with them, I lost all interest.”
“Food is not made to be vacuumed. It’s meant to be consumed over a lengthy period of time.”
“Spoken like someone who doesn’t hold two jobs.”
He shook his head. “Constance would disown you.”
“Glad I’m not her kid, then. Better no mom than one who bends you to the only shape she can love you in.” I stood, gesturing to the plate I’d discarded, wondering if my words cut him as deep as I’d intended. A lot of layers of dead skin covered that heart of his. “Sorry, this is inedible.”
No way could I get full off six tiny slivers of fish. I craved something decadent and bad for me. Something I had no business eating.
Like Zachary Sun.
No, Fae, the logical side of my brain chided. Like jajangmyeon or pupusas.
The sooner I got that, the better off I’d be.
“It is perfectly nutritious.” He continued chewing with his mouth shut. Thirty-two times each bite. Without fail. “The ideal fuel for your body.”
“Maybe if I were a machine.” Which I seriously suspected he was. “I know my body. And it wants something that will block its arteries to the point where I’ll need acetone to clear them.”
Andras would kill me.
Andras also isn’t here.
He opened his mouth—about to scold me, no doubt—before clapping it shut, then opening it again. “Like what?”
Good question.
Anything beat what I usually stole from the fridge—Vera, Reggie, and Tabby’s gross gluten-free, sodium-free, carb-free, taste-free diet food.
Since I doubted I could handle the consequences of requesting him on a platter, pupusas needed a solid fifteen minutes to reheat in the air fryer, and my favorite jajangmyeon was all the way in Rockville, I settled for the greasiest thing I could think of.
“Pizza.” I felt my eyes crinkling as I smiled at the memory of wolfing slices down before entering a Broadway show with Dad. “I want a New York-style pizza. Huge, thin-crusted, with enough cheese to sculpt out a life-sized five-year-old.” My mouth watered at the thought. “Actually, make it an eleven-year-old.”
He looked horrified.
As if I’d told him I wanted to eat an actual child.
So, I figured—why not push the envelope a little more? Zach was so deeply offended by the pleasures of life, I wanted to make him try them.
See what all the fuss was about.
I folded my arms, leaning back. “When was the last time you ate pizza?”
His brows crashed together as he sifted through the neatly organized files of his memory. “Third… no, fourth grade, I suppose. Trevor McKee’s birthday party. Flown in from Sicily, yet quite subpar.”
I tried flicking through his empty desk calendar with a chopstick, shaking my head. “Oh, Zach.”
“I know. Why not fly in chefs and ingredients from Italy?”
“We’re ordering pizza right now. And it better be so oily, we need four towels beneath the box to soak up the stains. And…” I tossed my hands in the air, lighting up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. “…and beers. Shitty, watery college beer.”
“Belgian beers,” he countered.
I shook my head. “Sorry, you’re gonna slum it up with me today.”
“Lovely.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “What’s next in my bingo card? A trip to Aldi and a fentanyl overdose?”
“Aldi is the shit.”
“The ‘the’ is silent, I suppose?”
Despite my horror at his strict lifestyle, I found myself laughing. “Oh, and you’re paying, by the way.”
He looked ready to vomit, his high cheekbones pale and sharp. My heart hiked up to my throat.
I was sure he’d say no.
After several minutes of silence, he pushed the sashimi away. “Fine. We’ll have pizza.”
“I’m glad you saw the light.”
He raised a finger. “On one condition.”
My heart galloped. “Which is…?”
Please say something dirty that I want to do anyway.
“No gross toppings.”
“Just pineapple.”
“Especially not pineapple.”
“Are you always this tough a negotiator?”
“No.” He submerged his hands in an oversized washing bowl. “I usually don’t negotiate. I just take what I want.”
“What’s wrong with pineapple?”
“Nothing.” He ran a towel over his palm. “Pizza is simply not its natural habitat.”
“What is, then?”
“The trash can.”
Rude.
“Well, I like it, and you’re going to accommodate me.”
The idea seemed to appall him. “Why?”
“Because you want me to accommodate your twelve inches.”
“It’s not twelve inches.”
“It’s pretty damn close.”
“You are anatomically built to push out a twelve-pound human,” he pointed out.
“You’re anatomically built to eat a Bromeliad flower.”
He shook his head. “This is terrible.”
“Welcome to the world of courtship, Zachary.”
“I’m tempted to make a sharp U-turn.” Zach pressed a button on his dashboard. “Natalie. Order us a large pineapple pizza.”
“Extra cheese,” I whispered, scurrying to the edge of my seat, forgetting to keep my distance.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. His leg kicked out, rolling my chair back a half a foot.