Page 12 of Defend Her Heart

All I can do is nod, because he’s right. When you play a sport competitively, and if you’re lucky enough to be one of the best at it, that game becomes a lifestyle.

We spend the next five minutes chatting about mundane things like our favorite hockey players, music, and TV shows. When Connor admits to watching my favorite TV show of all time, I grab his wrist and spin around in front of him.

“You seriously watchOne Tree Hillevery night before bed? Or is that just a line you use to get girls excited. Because Nathan Scott is a national treasure, and if you’reusinghim, we’re going to have a problem.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I jut a foot out to the side and wait for him to answer.

Connor places his hands gently on my shoulders and bends his head down so he’s at eye level with me.

“Brooke Davis is my dream girl, Avery. I wouldn’t joke about that.”

My eyes bore into his as I try to decipher whether he’s telling the truth or not. Still not fully convinced, I ask him one more question.

“If she really is your dream girl, tell me who Brooke bid on in theBoy Auctionepisode.”

A slow smirk spreads across his face and he finally releases his hold on my shoulders. Mirroring my stance, his biceps flex as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“She had to run and get money and ended up having to bid on Mouth.”

My jaw drops and I stand stunned, gaping at this boy that I’m beginning to become infatuated with.

He spins me around and throws his arm over my shoulder, urging me to keep walking.

“That was an easy one. But yeah, I love the shit out of that show.”

Before I can think of another question, he stops walking and turns us toward the front of a very tiny pizza shop.

“Lombardi’s Little Slice of Heaven. The best pizza you’ll ever eat.”

It takes all of two seconds before the delicious aroma overtakes all of my senses. The smell drifts between us, warm and familiar, like I can taste the pizza before even taking my first bite. Molten cheese, tangy tomato sauce, and the mouth-watering smell of fresh baked crust floats in the air. The scent alone could ruin anyone’s plans of only eating one slice. It’s a good thing I came here planning to devour a whole pie myself.

Licking my lips, I turn to Connor and can’t hide my excitement. I bounce on my toes and my cheeks hurt from the size of the smile on my face.

“Let’s go already!” I grab his hand and fling the door open, pulling him behind me.

Inside the small pizza shop, I’m taken aback at how cute the space is. Not only does the food smell delicious and authentic, but the restaurant is just as welcoming as the aroma. Small square tables, covered in white and red checkered tablecloths, line the space with black iron chairs surrounding them all. Wine bottles line the walls up near the ceiling, and the stone walls are painted a red-orange color, the biggest wall next to us covered by an Italian flag.

Once we approach the counter to order, we’re greeted by the cutest older woman. Dark black, curly hair frames her face and the kindest brown eyes look back at me.

“What can I get for you, my dear?” Her voice is thick with an Italian accent and it immediately makes me smile.

“Hi! Can I please have a small round pizza with grilled chicken, bacon, and pineapple?”

The woman nods and writes down my order on a slip of paper in very messy handwriting before turning her attention to Connor at my right.

“And for you?” The woman stares up at him but when I don’t hear him answer, I turn to see him staring at me, disgust written as plain as day all over his face.

“What?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders.

Connor places a hand to his chest and starts rubbing over the area where his heart is.

“I think I can feel my heart actually breaking in my chest right now.”

I knit my brows together and narrow my eyes at him. What the hell is he talking about?

“What are you jabbering on about? Are you feeling okay?” I put the back of my hand to his forehead to check for a temperature but he swats me away.

“Pineapple? On pizza?Say it ain’t so.” He dramatically says the last four words and clutches his heart again.

“Oh my god! Shut up! Pineapple belongs on pizza. It’s not my fault you lack a sophisticated palate.”