A Pizza My Heart

by Hunter, Teagan

  My brows pinch together, and I’m no longer trying to hold back a laugh.

  No. Now I’m furious.

  I thrust open the door and my would-be attacker stumbles backward, jumping a few feet and catching himself before he goes down again.

  “Hey! Watch the dick! You already nailed me once tonight.”

  I climb out of my broken-down clunker and stomp toward him, shoving at his hard chest.

  “Oh, you wish I’d nail you, Winston Daniels!”

  My best friend’s twin brother and mortal enemy grins at me with his signature Come and get it smirk.

  I want to reach out and smack it off his face.

  In general, I like my waitressing job at Slice. Not only is the pizzeria a tourist destination, making the tips nice, the people I work with make dealing with the general public feel like a breeze.

  You know, minus Winston.

  To put it simply, Winston Daniels is the most annoying man on the planet…and my ex-boyfriend left me when I was pregnant, so that’s saying something.

  He’s arrogant. Lazy. Has no care in the world for anyone but himself.

  And I despise him.

  “Quit smiling, you ass!”

  I push him again, and this time he laughs.

  “Stop it!”

  Another laugh. “Nah.”

  “Winston!”

  His booming laugh echoes throughout the empty parking lot and I roll my eyes, stomping past him.

  A strong hand curls around my wrist and I’m spun in place until I hit a brick wall.

  Or perhaps that’s Winston’s chest.

  Right now, they feel the same.

  “What?” I seethe.

  He drops his eyes to where my hands are planted on his chest, raising a brow at the contact.

  I try to take a step back, but he won’t let me move.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home. Obviously.”

  “Your car won’t start—again, I might add.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” I try to wiggle out of his grasp again, but he still won’t relent. I huff. “Let me go. I have a bus to catch.”

  “No.”

  My brows shoot into my hairline at the flippancy in his tone. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You’re not riding the fucking bus home.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do? Walk?”

  “No.”

  “Right. Let me just grab my wrench from my purse, pop the hood, and get this thing fixed myself.”

  “Is it just me or are you extra pissy tonight?”

  I don’t know if it’s the facetious smirk across his face or the way he says it, but I break.

  Completely and wholly.

  The tears spring back into my eyes and blood rushes to my face as I shove and shove at Winston’s chest.

  “What the—” He stumbles, brows slashed together, lips drawn into a thin line.

  “Fuck you, Daniels! Fuck you and your stupid bullshit. You don’t even know what real life is. You live in some shitty fantasy world where you think life is nothing but flowers and rainbows. You wouldn’t know real life if it bit you in the ass.”

  “I wouldn’t?”

  “No!” I shout. “You don’t know what it’s like to struggle, to beg the electric company to not turn your heat off, to live off Ramen so you can make sure your baby has food and diapers. You don’t know shit about shit, Winston.”

  “I know you’re not taking the fucking bus.”

  I growl at his arrogance, swiping at the hot tears. “You’re not my boss. You’re not anything to me but a turd on the bottom of my shoe. You’re the—”

  “Did you just call me a turd?”

  “Yes! Because you are one! You’re—”

  “At least you didn’t call me a penis wrinkle like Wren’s taken to doing. That one is just…” He shakes his head like none of this is affecting him, like he thinks it’s some comedy sketch when in reality I am getting precariously close to end of my rope. “It’s odd.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “No. She really calls me a penis wrinkle. How have you not heard her do it? You two are attached at the hip so I find this hard to believe.”

  He’s not wrong about his sister and me, but that’s completely beside the point right now.

  “You’re just going to stand there talking about penis wrinkles while I’m having a meltdown?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Anything other than that! Literally anything but talk about penis wrinkles.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

  “Nothing? Not a damn thing?”

  “No.”

  The way he stares at me, like he doesn’t give a crap about any of the things plaguing my life…it hurts.

  I can’t choke back the sob that bubbles up in my throat.

  Thick arms wrap around me, stopping my descent before my knees hit the dirty ground, and I’m engulfed in warmth as my cries fill the night.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but it’s long enough for a wet spot to form on Winston’s shirt.

  Everything I’ve bottled up for months breaks free. All the late nights, the financial stress, the relationship woes…all of it. I cry it all out, pushing the emotion from my body like I never have before because I need this moment. I need this relief.

  I don’t care that I’m breaking down in front of my mortal enemy.

  This isn’t about him. This moment is about me.

  Winston shifts, his arms flexing around me, and I don’t miss how small I feel inside his embrace.

  Has he always been this big compared to me? Has he always been this chiseled? Is he always this warm?

  “Knock it off.”

  His gruff voice interrupts any inkling of nice thoughts I have regarding him.

  I can’t even muster the strength to glare up him, but his words make me cry harder.

  “I said fucking stop. Quit crying, Drew.”

  “F-Fuck you,” I stutter.

  “No thanks.” He squeezes me, like he can somehow magically tighten his grip and get me to stop. “I’m serious—quit crying.”

  “You can’t just command someone to not cry. That’s not how it works.”

  “I fucking wish it did. I hate this shit.”

  I push away from him. “Well if you think I like crying in front of you, you’re wrong.” I swipe at the tears and snot covering my face. “If I gave a shit what you thought about me, this would be embarrassing as hell.” I give him a saccharine grin. “But I hate you, so I don’t give a fuck.”

  He snorts out a laugh, pulling the cigarette tucked behind his ear free and lighting it up, taking a big hit of nicotine before blowing the cloud of smoke my way. “Right. You hate me.”

  I wave away the stench and scowl at him. “So much more than you think.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that, just grins around his cancer stick and stares at me with those annoyingly beautiful baby blues.

  The thing I hate most about Winston is that I don’t hate the way he looks.

  I don’t hate it all.

  Speaking from my most basic human instincts, Winston Daniels is fuckable.

  But I’ll be the last person to ever fuck him.

  He’s traditionally attractive with a strong, square jaw that’s perpetually lined with stubble, light brown hair that curls in just the right way when grown out, and don’t even get me started on his eyes.

  The brightest blue I’ve ever seen.

  Flawless in their beauty yet filled with secrets.

  I hate them almost as much as I hate him because they make me want to know everything he’s hiding.

  The cloud of smoke he’s created swirls around him, and right now he’s the picturesque version of a bad boy. Dark boots, tight blue jeans, a simple black shirt, and a flannel shirt tied around his waist. The very muscles I just had my hands on strain with every movement he makes. Even i
f I hadn’t felt them for myself, it’s clear Winston spends a lot of time working out. I mean, what else is he supposed to do with all his free time since he hardly shows up to work at his dad’s pizzeria and has no other discernable extracurricular activities besides chasing the beach bunnies?

  “Like what you see?”

  I roll my eyes. “Please. You wish.”

  He grins again, and I ignore the pinch I feel between my legs.

  Fucking traitorous body.

  I brush the stray hairs back from my face and pull my jacket tighter around me, ready to take my leave because I can’t stand to spend one more minute in his presence. I need to get home.

  “You better not say a word to anyone about this,” I warn as I brush past him.

  His hand wraps around my wrist yet again, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Let me go, Winston. I really need to get home, and the bus will be here in less than ten minutes. Some of us have responsibilities, you know.”

  He ignores me, taking one last puff of his cigarette before tossing the butt to the side.

  “What’d I tell you?”

  I scrunch my nose, not sure what he’s getting at. “That you have penis wrinkles?”

  “No. That you’re not riding the bus.”

  I groan and try to pull free again.

  He doesn’t concede. If anything, his grip tightens more, and I wonder briefly if I’ll have bruises tomorrow morning.

  “Just let me the fuck go!”

  “NO!”

  I stumble, blinking up as his six-two frame towers over me. It’s the first time he’s shown any real emotion tonight, and I don’t know how to process it.

  “I said no.” He’s speaking quietly now, but his voice is still firm.

  “Then what the hell am I supposed to do? I was just kidding about the wrench.”

  He tugs on my arm and I have to fight to keep my balance as he begins dragging me in the opposite direction of the bus stop.

  My heart stutters as he pulls me farther into the dark parking lot, away from the building—away from anything, in fact.

  “W-Winston? Where are we going?”

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I must thank the dude who made this book possible: Mike Marlett. If you hadn’t gone on all those Tinder dates to the same restaurant, wore the same outfit, ordered the same meal, and had the same waitress that one week, this book wouldn’t exist. You’re the real MVP of this story. I sincerely hope that even after your shitty divorce, you find your own HEA. You deserve it.

  Samantha Weaver. I don’t even know where to start with you. You brought my book to life with your insane photography skills. Plus, you’re an amazing human. I can’t thank you enough for everything.

  Dani Lynn. You. YOU! I adore you. You’re not only gorgeous, you’re kind. And that’s my favorite part about you. Thank you for bringing Wren to life.

  To the Marine, thank you for listening to me talk about this book for months and months…and for letting me hoard alllllll the pizza stuff for giveaways. You’re my favorite first husband.

  Mom, thanks for being the best mom ever.

  Laurie, I’d die without you. No, seriously. I’d probably forget to hydrate or eat or something because you’re not there to remind me. You’re my favorite human.

  Kristann, I love you. There’s really nothing else to say except…I LOVE YOU.

  Sara Ney, ugh. You’re the worst. But also…the best? You always push me to be a better businesswoman and I appreciate the hell out of your annoying mom tendencies.

  Caitlin…sometimes I don’t know how I ever got through this author world without you. Thank you for taking my rambles and making them readable.

  Danielle, thank you for taking a chance on me and letting me be part of your new adventure at Wildfire Marketing Solutions. I can’t wait to see what this journey brings you!

  Allie, you always make my books look so pretty. And you let me send you a bunch of typos AFTER formatting and I appreciate that you don’t yell at me for sucking. Thank you.

  To my agent Aimee, Kimberly, and the great team at Brower Literary for taking a chance on me. I owe you all so much.

  Teagan’s Tidbits… A wise man once said, “family don’t end with blood…but it doesn’t start there either”. And that’s so, so true. Tidbits is my home, and you’re my family. Thank you for always believing in me.

  With love and unwavering gratitude,

  Teagan

  Other Titles by Teagan Hunter:

  Let’s Get Textual

  I Wanna Text You Up

  Can’t Text This

  Text Me Baby One More Time

  A Pizza My Heart

  I Knead You Tonight

  We Are the Stars

  If You Say So

  Here’s to Tomorrow

  Here’s to Yesterday

  Here’s to Forever: A Novella

  Here’s to Now

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  About the Author

  TEAGAN HUNTER is a Missouri-raised gal, but currently lives in North Carolina with her US Marine husband, where she spends her days begging him for a cat. She survives off coffee, pizza, and sarcasm. When she’s not writing, you can find her binge-watching various TV shows, especially Supernatural and One Tree Hill. She enjoys cold weather, buys more paperbacks than she’ll ever read, and never says no to brownies.

  You can find Teagan on:

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  Her website

  Or contact her via email:

  teaganhunterwrites@gmail.com