A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(39)

“Totally. You are so emotionally unavailable, Reed. You even choose shower sex over the bed, because then you won’t have to cuddle me afterwards.”

The young bartender’s eyes widen. He moves quickly down the bar to give us some privacy. He’s definitely getting a tip. “That is not true,” I hiss. “I just feel really horny whenever there’s warm water around.”

She lets out a low laugh. “Okay, dude. Sure. Now what are you going to do to fix this thing with your college sweetheart?”

“Fix it?” That’s not possible. “The best I can hope for is some closure. I keep thinking up new ways to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s a start,” Harper agrees. “I’m a fan of roses.” She kicks my foot with her stylish winter boot. “But not everyone is. What was your love language when you were in college?”

“Hmm. I guess it was pizza.”

“Really?” Harper giggles.

“It was college.” I glance up and signal to the bartender. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Probably,” he says. “But don’t ask me to take sides, here.”

“All I want to know is whether you have pizza and whether it’s any good.”

The kid looks relieved. He reaches for a menu. “The veggie option is a little bland unless you ask for extra garlic. But the rest of them are great.”

“Ooh, pizza,” Harper says. “Pass me that menu when you’re done. And also? Forget the roses. I need a room for the weekend.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, eyeing the pizza choices. “I’m sure you do.”





CHAPTER 19




BECAUSE THERE IS PIZZA





AVA I’ve just finished blow-drying my hair when someone knocks on my door.

Uh-oh.

I send up a small prayer to the universe that my visitor is Raven, Sarah, Callie, Halley, or pretty much anyone on the planet besides Reed Madigan.

No such luck. When I swing open the door, he’s standing there breathing hard, two pizza boxes stacked on one lifted hand. “Delivery,” he pants.

I glare at those pizza boxes and then at my ex. “Nice try, but you can’t go backward in time, Reed.”

“Oh, I know it. This is me trying to move forward for once. Now let me in before the pizza gets cold. I ran here so it would still be warm.”

Still, I hesitate. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I let him into my apartment. Not an hour ago I lip-locked myself to this man and then I…

It’s not easy to hold back my groan of embarrassment. But I manage. Just barely.

“Ava,” he says with a winning smile that isn’t helping. “I was hoping to stay here with you tonight. I just gave away the Vista Suite to my most recent ex.”

“What?” I’m not sure which part of that is the most surprising. Then I notice the suitcase behind him. “You want to stay here? Room twenty-five is still available.”

He drops the smile, and his eyes turn both begging and heated. My record for saying no to that look is probably even worse than my record against his smile.

I open the door wider. Because there is pizza, and I never ate dinner. I’m only being practical. “I’ll book you another hotel room after we eat,” I say, feeling very pragmatic.

“Good luck with that,” he says, grinning as he steps into my living room. “The snow in the forecast has done some things to your availability rate. Sheila already checked.”

I groan. “Really?”

He just smiles. “I got one with pepperoni for old time’s sake. The other one is BLT.”

“Ooh.” My stomach rumbles, because I love the BLT. It’s a bacon and garlic pizza with a heavy helping of Caesar salad plunked right into the center of the pie. “Take off those wet boots and sit your ass down at the counter. I’ll get some plates and forks.”

“Excellent,” he says, handing off the boxes. He whistles to himself as he tosses his bag down and unlaces his boots.

“You’re presumptuous,” I grumble as I head for my tiny kitchen area. “That hasn’t changed.” He follows me into the kitchen before I’m ready.

And did I mention how small the kitchen is? Reed comes up right behind me and wraps his arms around me. I drop the forks on the counter, and I try not to shiver.

“Hey,” he whispers into my ear. “You used to like it when I was presumptuous. You never wanted to make the first move.”

Hell. He isn’t wrong. “I never got over that,” I admit.

“There are things I never got over either,” he whispers. “I want to own that. I think it will help.”

Again, I have to fight off a shiver. I’ve spent a decade feeling like Reed Madigan owed me an apology. But I didn’t ever realize that hearing it would be almost as complicated as his silence. “Help who, though?” I spin around in his arms and give him my best laser stare.

But he’s so close to me that I draw in a breath. And that makes things worse, because it means I’ve just inhaled a whiff of frosty night air, chlorine, and Reed’s piney scent.

My laser can hardly function under these conditions.

“We both have some things to overcome,” he says. “Maybe we can move on together.”