Page 217 of Terms of Exposure
"I don't think I will."
The silence that followed was warm. Charged. Full of promise.
I laughed. "Now drive. I'm starving."
Chapter forty-seven
Damien
I couldn't stop looking at her.
She was cross-legged on my couch, pizza box open in her lap, cheese stretching between the slice and her mouth as she tried to take a bite without making a mess.
She was failing spectacularly.
But even with marinara on her chin and grease on her fingers, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
She knows.
The weight I'd been carrying since I typed that lie three days ago was gone. Not completely—the guilt would linger. But the secret?
Gone.
"You're staring," she commented, twirling stray cheese around her finger. "What's going on in there?"
I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me.
I love you and still… can't say it.
"Nothing," I said. "Just thinking."
"About?"
About vows.
About the way you said it like it was already decided.
About how I want to give you everything, but those three words still stayed locked behind my tongue.
"The pizza," I saidinstead. "It's good."
Emma squinted at me, unconvinced, but let it go.
I watched her queue upFlip This House, tucking her feet beneath her and settling into the cushions. The apartment smelled like oregano and cardboard and the vanilla candle she'd insisted on lighting. For ambiance, she'd said, like pizza required atmosphere.
"This is the one where they find the dead raccoon in the walls," Emma announced, reaching for another slice.
"I know. We watched this the same night you ordered an Italian beef from the place on 6th and they brought you pastrami." I chuckled, remembering her tiny angry stomps. "You were furious."
She took a monstrous bite of pizza, talking with it in her mouth. "Because it's complete and total bullshit! Those are two entirely different sandwiches. Two entirely different animals."
"To be fair, you did eat it."
"Because I was starving! That doesn't make it okay." She jabbed a finger at me. "And you just sat there laughing while I suffered."
"You weren't suffering. You were stress-eating pastrami and ranting about culinary integrity."
"Because it matters, Damien." She polished off her crust and reached for another slice. "Words have meanings. Menus have meanings. If I order Italian beef, I expect Italian beef. It's a social contract."
