going to happen. “I think I want pizza,” Jamie mutters. “Pizza!” I gasp. “Who are you and what have you done with the real James Benedick Westenberg?” “Ha!” He gives me a playful glare. “Boring Jamie isn’t so boring after all, is he? Hmm? He can order a pizza on a Friday night when there’s a little too much tequila in his system.” “One shot, James.” “I’m a lightweight,” he admits.
