Worth It (13 page)

“You going to stalk the pizza chick again tonight?” my brother—Zach, short for Zachariah—asks when he comes over with beer for some Sunday football.

I groan. “Shut the fuck up.”

I never should have said anything to my brother. I should have known he’d be a jackass about me trying to run into Anna. I’ve been down to the pizza shop four times this week, but I haven’t laid eyes on that pretty little ass. I don’t know if she’s avoiding me or if I just suck with timing, but it’s fucking annoying. I probably would be down there if I didn’t know the shop was closed on Sundays.

“What’s your obsession anyway? So, she’s hot. It’s not like you’ve never dated a hot chick before.”

“I don’t know.” I blow out a harsh breath. “She’s got a killer body—tight round ass, perfect tits, and a beautiful face.” I shrug. “And she’s not a stuck-up bitch. She’s funny and cute.” I sigh because I know I’m about to sound like a pussy. “There’s just something about her. You know I’m looking to settle down, and I think she has potential. Plus, she cooks, and I love food.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand why you want to shackle yourself down.”

I roll my eyes. “Not everyone wants to stick his dick in everything with a pair of tits.”

“Why not?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s too much work.”

“It’s not work.”

“It is to me. Taking a new chick out every weekend, playing games and shit—it’s all too much fucking work. I just want to come home, eat some food, watch some TV with a good woman at my side, and then I want to fuck her good before we go to bed. Simple,” I say.
Finding a good woman has been way harder than I thought.

“Whatever sizzles your bacon, man. The idea of banging the same woman all the time…” He shudders.

I shrug. “I don’t give a shit what you think. You want to bang random chicks? Have fun. I’m just done with that.”

“After Danielle, I figured you’d want to—”

He finally shuts up when I glare at him.

“Can we quit hashin’ this shit out?”

“Fine, man, whatever. You gonna try and see her again tomorrow?”

I heave out a sigh. “Yeah.” I hope to Christ she’ll be there this time.

I’m working Halloween on a Monday, and it’s been pretty slow, except for the trick-or-treaters. On top of my head is one of those ridiculous headbands with antennae that have light-up pumpkins on the ends. I know I look stupid, but watching the kids’ faces brighten makes me feel light and happy. I love it.

Right now, I’m sitting on the floor, stocking the soda cooler, when the door chime rings.

“I’m coming!” I call out.

As I walk over to the counter, my stomach plummets to my toes. Instead of the cute little kids I was expecting, Jed is standing at the counter, tall and gorgeous and grinning. Although I’m surprised and nervous as a canary going into a mine shaft, I’m really happy to see him. Tingles flow across my body as I walk closer to the counter, closer to Jed.

As much as I’ve thought about him, my memory did not serve me correctly at all. This man is fucking sexy. He’s seriously fucking sexy with a red polo shirt that makes his milk-chocolate eyes pop, and his black leather jacket gives his clean-cut good looks a slight bad-boy edge.

“Hey.” I smile tentatively. I nearly gave up hope that I would see him again, but now that he’s here, my nerves are running rampant.
Should I just tell him I’ve changed my mind? Should I wait for him to bring it up? What if he changed his mind?

“Hey.” His beautiful lips—lips that kissed the life out of me—spread into a heart-stopping smile. His eyes search my face. “How have you been?”

With a shaking hand, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Um, good.” I’m so out of my element. “Just a lot of work and school. You?”

“Really good, Anna.” He nods, and then he flashes his panty-dropping smile again.

“What can I get you?”

“A large grilled chicken sub.”

I jot down his order, and just as I finish, he says, “So, do you—”

The phone rings, cutting him off.

What the hell, phone?

I trudge to the phone and take the order. After I hang up the phone, I move to the kitchen and get to work on making the orders. Monday is a slow night, so I’m almost always on my own, and tonight is no exception. I really wish I could ignore my job right now, but alas, I can’t. I can, however, still see him by the counter. I’m silently praying that he’ll ask me out again because I’m not so sure I have the courage to outright
tell
him that I changed my mind.

I try to think of something, anything to say. I’m so nervous that I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “So, do you come here often?” I mentally facepalm myself.
Nice, Anna.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin. “More often lately.”

My brow furrows in confusion since I haven’t seen him in here at all, except for the Friday before last.

Before I can question him, he starts, “So, I was wondering—”

Again, he’s interrupted by a shrill ring.

I hate that stupid phone!

I toss the pizza into the oven, grab the phone, and commit the order to memory as I throw the chicken for his sub on the grill. Once I hang up, I scribble down the memorized order on a slip of paper. When I look up, another customer is at the counter. I barely suppress a growl.

Go away, people!

After I hang up the order, I stride to the counter and take the customer’s order. Jed is standing off to the side, still watching and smirking at me.

The second I’m done taking the lady’s order, Jed says, “So, do you think—”

Ring, ring!

I’m ripping the phone out of the wall. It’s happening.

I take the phone order, and now, I can’t talk to him at all because I’m officially busy. The phone rings a few more times, so I take the orders and make the food with the efficiency I’ve gained from working in the pizza business over the last five years. I steal glances his way as I work, and he’s still watching and smirking at me. Every time I look in his direction, his face brightens a little. I’m pretty positive he’s still interested.

As I’m wrapping up his sub, I get an idea. It has me practically sweating at the thought. I never put myself out there. Rejection is too terrifying to contemplate, but the risk here is low.
Fuck it.
I scribble on the paper of his wrapped sub,
In case you’re still interested, 988-555-2276, Anna
. Before the dread of possible rejection kicks in and I chicken out, I toss the sandwich in the to-go paper bag, quickly walk over to him at the counter, and hand it to him. That ill-fated phone rings again, and I rush to answer it.

Before I pick up the receiver, he says, “Anna, do you think—”

“I wrote my number on your sub,” I say, looking over my shoulder before I pick up the phone.

I hope to God that’s what he was going to ask, and I sag with relief when he smiles big.

He mouths,
Thanks
.

I smile brightly back at him, and he turns to leave. I hang up after taking the order, and I glance up just as he turns back from the door.

“By the way,” he calls over, pointing to the top of his head, “cute,” and then he walks out the door.

“Huh?” I reach up to feel on top of my head and groan.
Nice, real nice.
I’m still wearing the ridiculous headband. My face reddens, and I shake my head.
Way to make an impression, doofus.

“Thank Christ,” I mutter with a huge grin.

Not only did I finally run into her, but she also gave me her number, and I didn’t even have to ask. When I heard her soft, sexy voice call out, “I’m coming,” I couldn’t help but imagine her screaming that while I’m buried deep inside her. I was so glad that she was out of sight for a minute because I needed that time to will my dick to behave. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was some psycho walking around with a raging erection.

I can’t keep this shit-eating grin off my face as I make my way back to my apartment.
Now that I think about it, why do people say shit-eating grin? Why would anyone eat shit? And if they had, why the hell would they be grinning about it? That makes no sense. Gross.

As I open my door, I pull out my phone and call my brother.

“Sup?” Zach answers.

“Got it!” I shout.

“Shit, man, that was my ear!”

Whoops. I guess I didn’t need to yell.

“Got, what? Wait—are you talking about the pizza chick? Did you get her number?”

“Yep,” I say. Like a gorilla, I want to puff out my chest and start pounding it.

I replay what happened at the pizza shop to Zach as I take my sub out of the wrapper and tear off the piece of paper with her number. I tack it to my bulletin board and grin at it, barely suppressing my caveman grunt of approval.

“Nice. Sounds like this obsession isn’t one-sided, and she’s not going to take out a restraining order.” He laughs.

“Fuck you, dick. I’m not obsessing,” I mutter defensively.
Okay, maybe I am—just a little.

“Relax, man. I’m just teasing,” he says. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Fuck you,” I say again as I grab a drink and napkin before returning to the couch where my mouthwatering sub awaits. “I think I’m going to call her when I’m done eating.”

He snorts into the phone. “Fuck, man, you’re anxious to hand over your balls. Aren’t you supposed to wait at least until tomorrow?”

I ignore his ball comment because it’ll just piss me off. “Hell no. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get her number when I saw her. I told you the last time I saw her, she ran away from me, but now, she gave me her number. I need to strike while the iron is hot,” I say. “I don’t play stupid games like that anyway. I like her, and I think she likes me, so I’ll call her.”

He sighs. “Can’t argue with that logic, brother. I’ll let you go, so you can eat. Good luck with your phone call.”

“Thanks, man. Later.”

“Later.”

I turn on Monday night football, open a water bottle, and eat my delicious sub.
Damn, this is good.
This girl can cook.
After I finish eating, I think about what I’ll say when I call her.
Man, what am I going to say? Meh, I’ll figure it out as I go.

I dial her number, but I hesitate before pressing Send.
Why am I so nervous? Are my palms sweating?
We’ve already talked, so it’s not like I don’t know her at all. I already kissed her, for Christ’s sake. I’m just going to talk to her and ask when I can take her out, so I shouldn’t be this edgy. Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about her so much? Or maybe my brother is just fucking with my head. I hate feeling nervous. It isn’t a feeling I have often.

I shake off the anxiety, press Send, and mutter, “Fuck it.”

As I begin the drive home after work, I’m on cloud freaking nine. The relief of putting myself out there and not getting rejected is huge, massive, ginormous. Granted, the risk was low, but it was still there, and I don’t take chances. I can’t. I can’t expose myself to Pandora’s Box of emotions when I’ve spent so long shoving everything in it and locking it away. I can’t explain why I took the risk, but I did, and for once, it seems to have paid off.