“Pizza me,” I whisper pleadingly. I can hear him chewing. The bastard. He didn’t even wait for me. “Here you go,” he says, handing me a plate. “Thanks, traitor.” “It was your mom! I couldn’t close the door on your mom.” “Save it. You’re dead to me for ten minutes.” Sighing, he sips his beer as I moan around a bite of lukewarm pizza. I love pizza. Even when it’s cold, it loves you back.
