“Good. I’m hoping you guys aren’t too slammed, and I can order a pepperoni pie for delivery.”
Chances were the tourists had them in a rush. I could hear the din of customers in the background.
“I’ll slide you to the front of the line,” she said.
“You are an angel.”
Sheila laughed. “Us locals gotta look out for each other.”
“Dang straight.”
“It should be about thirty minutes.”
“Thanks. I’ll be here.”
“See you later,” she called and hung up.
“Pizza will cure all,” I muttered. I looked around the space for something to occupy me while I waited. I didn’t want to watch TV, and there was no way I could focus on a book. I worried the inside of my cheek until an idea hit me, and I grinned.
Crossing to the hall closet, I opened it wide and pushed aside the array of jackets. I grabbed hold of the kickboxing dummy and hauled it out into the living room, panting by the time I was done. Then I grabbed a plastic case from the shelf in the closet and set it on the coffee table.
I opened the lid and took in the set of throwing knives. Pulling one out, I tested the weight in my hand. I straightened, took a deep breath, and let it fly. The blade hit center mass, and I felt just a little bit better.
I grabbed the second knife and then the third. I threw blade after blade until I regained a little bit of the control I so desperately needed.
The doorbell rang, and I set the last knife back in the case, crossing to the front door. Whoever was running delivery had made good time.
I unarmed my alarm and opened the door to six feet three inches of pissed-off male. He’d changed from his more formal attire into gray joggers and a tee that clung to his muscled chest.
“You didn’t even ask who it was,” Caden said, glowering.
“It was supposed to be pizza.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?” he snapped.
“No, it’s a grown man who looks like he’s about to throw a tantrum.”
Gold flashed in Caden’s hazel eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t want your ass to get murdered.”
“Murderers don’t usually ring the bell.”
“I’m sure some do, just waiting for naïve women to answer.”
“I’m not naïve,” I snapped.
“The events of today don’t really prove that.”
“You, you—”
A throat cleared behind Caden, and we both whirled toward the sound.
The delivery driver, who was in his early twenties, held out a pizza box. “Sorry to interrupt the lovers’ quarrel, but I’ve got your pizza, Grae.”
“Thanks, Tim,” I said, moving forward. “Sorry about this.”
Tim shrugged. “I get it. My girl and I can get into it, too.” He grinned. “But the makeup sex is always out of this world.”
I nearly choked on my tongue.
