This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Teagan Hunter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer quoting brief passages for review purposes only.
Editing by Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading by Deaton Author Services & Judy's Proofreading
Formatting by AB Formatting
Photography by Samantha Weaver Photography
Models: Courtney Marie & Joshua Lee
Makeup by: You Glow Girl by Tonya
Contents
Slice One
Slice Two
Slice Three
Slice Four
Slice Five
Slice Six
Slice Seven
Slice Eight
Slice Nine
Slice Ten
Slice Eleven
Slice Twelve
Slice Thirteen
Slice Fourteen
Slice Fifteen
Slice Sixteen
Slice Seventeen
Slice Eighteen
Slice Nineteen
Slice Twenty
A Slice of the Future
Thank You
A Pizza My Heart Preview
Acknowledgments
Other titles by Teagan Hunter:
About the Author
For my real fake son Doug.
I don’t know why I’m dedicating this book to you.
You’re not allowed to read this.
Slice One
Drew
“You have got to be kidding me…”
Turning the key currently shoved into the ignition of my old beat-up car, I get the same result as the other four times I tried this—nothing.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I chant, trying yet again to get my car to crank.
Nada.
My eyes begin to brim with hot tears. I blink as they threaten to spill over, but I’m too late. The floodgates have opened and there’s no stopping the stream running down my cheeks.
It’s not just because my car won’t start.
It’s everything.
It’s the mounting bills, the late-night shifts, the pure and utter exhaustion that’s creeping in.
Oh, and the fact that my stupid ex-boyfriend dumped my ass when he found out I was pregnant, leaving me to take care of our baby on my own.
My lips pull into a grin as thoughts of my sweet perfect little Riker sweep through my mind.
I don’t care how things pan out for me, just as long as my baby has the best life I can give him.
It’s crazy, you know. They always say the moment you hold your baby in your arms, your life changes. They say everything that was important before suddenly dims in comparison, all the desires you had simply disappear, and your entire life belongs to the heartbeat in your hands.
I never believed the hype. I felt him inside of me for months and months. He had already changed my life. How was it going to be possible that I could love him even more than I already did?
Oh, I could.
I could and I do.
When I first discovered I was pregnant, I wasn’t happy. I mean, who would be happy to get knocked up by some dude you’ve only been dating a few months, one you’re basically just dating for sex anyway?
Not one single person.
I was even angrier when he left me soon after those pink lines appeared on the test. He pulled out of our future quicker than he ever pulled out of me.
Hence where I’m at in life.
Exhausted. Broke. Single mom to a healthy, beautiful three-month-old.
And I wouldn’t change a single moment of any of it.
I push my shoulders back and give myself a shake, wiping the drying tears from my cheeks and not letting yet another setback get me down.
Besides, I don’t have time for that. I need to get home to relieve my sitter, and no one is going to make that happen except me.
So, the city bus it is. Again. Ugh.
You’ve got this, Drew. It’s fine. You’re fine. Things will be just fucking fine.
They have to be.
For Riker.
I grip the door handle and reach for my bag where I stashed it in the passenger seat. I grab my phone charger and make sure to shove it inside the black pit I call a purse so I can charge my phone tonight.
You know, the one that’s at approximately fifteen percent.
“Because why wouldn’t it be dead,” I mutter, shoving the car door open.
“MY DICK!”
A scream rips from my lips and I yank the door closed again, watching as a dark figure crumples to the ground right outside my car.
I jam down the lock button, the click deafening inside the vehicle. My heart hammers in my chest, my heavy breaths fogging up the chilled glass in an instant.
The stranger lies on the ground and I can barely make out the curses slipping from his lips.
“Son of a bitch.” A loud, manly groan rumbles from his curled form. “This is what I get for being a fucking gentleman? Fuck this shit. Dammit, my fucking dick is on fire.”
I stifle the giggle that’s threatening to bubble out of me, not wanting to bring attention to myself. Maybe if I feign invisibility, he’ll go away.
A weighty hand lands on the handle as the man peels himself up off the ground.
I can hear his breathing through the window.
It’s harsh. Thick.
Or is that me?
“Fucking fuck,” he curses.
A cap-covered head pops up over the edge of the car door, his head hanging there for a moment, another groan escaping his mouth before a familiar pair of bright blue eyes meets my scared, drab brown ones.
My brows pinch together, and I’m no longer trying to hold back a laugh.
No. Now I’m furious.
I thrust the door open 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 my 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, storming off.
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.
&
nbsp; “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, 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 on 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 damn 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 the 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 say 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 here, 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 at 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—stop 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 at 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 jeans, a simple black tee, and a flannel shirt tied around his waist. The very muscles I just had my hands on strain with every movement he makes. Even if 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 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.
“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.”
Slice Two
Winston
This last strand of bud had to have been laced with something that’s fried my brain cells permanently.
It’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why I would tell Drew Woods she’s coming home with me.
Well, Drew and her baby.
I fucking hate babies.
And I hate Drew.
Yeah. That bud is really goddamn strong.
She’s been quiet the entire ride. Hasn’t spoken a peep since I finally convinced her to get in my station wagon and let me give her a ride.
I pull my old beater—the same one that saved my life—into Drew’s apartment complex and cut the engine.
She’s out of the vehicle faster than I ever thought possible.
No Thanks for the ride. Not even a Fuck you.
Just gone.
I dive out of the car, following close behind her.
“Seriously?” she shoots over her shoulder, voice full of venom—which is funny considering I just drove completely out of my way for her. “Do you have to follow me inside?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I think we both know I don’t trust you to come back out here, and I was very serious about you coming home with me.”
She whirls around and I nearly run into her, catching myself at the last second because the last thing I want to do is feel Drew in my arms again.
I Knead You Tonight Page 1