He grinned when I said it—even though I’d paired it with an eye roll. “Fantastic, thank you for asking.” He dug another slice from the box. “I killed it at practice today. I’m surprised the pros aren’t already knocking on my door.”
“I’m sure they’re on their way.” When I tore off a chunk of crust, I knew New York style pizza and I were going to be good friends. That processed five-dollar junk back home was an offense to actual pizza.
Soren checked his wrist as if he were wearing a watch. “Any minute now.”
When I laughed, he beamed his massive grin at me before sawing off another bite of pizza. My stomach did the flutter thing again. Why was it doing that so much lately? Why was it only happening around Soren? If I could just focus on his personality instead of his physical features, that would help. His personality that was . . . generous, fun, considerate, the kind that apologized, and still talked to his mom. Damn, he was as attractive in the personality department as he was on the outside.
Pizza, I thought. Focus on the redefining pizza. Not on what’s sitting across the table from you, grinning like he was game for anything and everything.
“Look at us.” Soren waved his finger between us. “Just a couple of big dreamers in the big city.”
“Just like everyone else our age.”
“Yeah, but unlike everyone else our age, we’re going to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling. “Dominate the shit out of our dreams.”
I lifted my half-eaten slice of pizza. “To dominating the shit out of our dreams.”
He lifted his. “I’ll eat to that.”
Then we both took a ceremonious bite, which made me laugh again.
“Okay, so I’m going to work on the clean thing. I promise. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll make an effort. I’ve got twenty years of slobbery I’m fighting to overcome.” He rested his forearms on the table and leaned into it. “Fair enough?”
“More than fair. And I promise to work on being more chill about that kind of stuff and not trying to control everything. I’ve got years of controlling and supervising to overcome.”
Soren slid his headphones off his neck and punched the music off on his phone. “Oldest child?”
I nodded, kicking my sneakers off to get comfortable. “Yeah, and Mom had to work multiple jobs to support us, so that left me in charge of my younger sisters.”
He was quiet a minute, his face serious for one short-lived moment. “So I’m like the annoying little brother you never had?”
“Pretty much.”
My response was met with a feigned wounded expression. “My mom always used to say she pitied the women her sons would one day marry. She said they’d all have their work cut out for them, training us to clean up after ourselves and adopting some manner of decorum.”
I fought my smile—he’d been chewing with his mouth open and his elbows on the table ever since sitting down. “Your poor mother.”
Soren nodded. “She’s a saint. And she said you’ll earn your saint status by the time you and I are done.”
“Logic behind that?”
“Because you’re like that future wife she’s been pitying all this time.” Soren moved in for his next slice. “Except now she pities you too.”
I shifted in my chair. “How am I anything like that future wife?”
He was looking at me like he was wondering why he had to answer that. Finally, he pointed his fresh slice of pizza at me. “You’re going to be the one who whips me into shape.”
“Soren. I yelled at you once about cleaning up.”
“Yeah. And look around.” I felt him smirking as I glanced around the mostly tidy apartment. “I cleaned up.”
For going eighteen years without a cell phone no problem, I already felt dependent on it after one week of ownership. Like, the thought of losing it brought on a mini panic attack kind of dependent.
That might have had a lot to do with how many calls I took every day from the agency or clients. I wasn’t sure how girls had modeled before cell phones. How did they find out that an appointment had been moved up an hour? Or that a client wanted to snap a few final pictures? Or that your agent needed to meet you for a power lunch between meetings?
I’d known no one in the city ten days ago, and now it felt like everyone had my number. Whether my new cell phone was a lifesaver or a beast of burden, there was one number I was always eager to answer whenever it came in. My mom and sisters were so excited for me and made me list every last detail of my day, but those calls were easy. I could just be myself. I didn’t have a part to play.
They were all doing well, and I promised to send a chunk of my first check so Mom would have some breathing room in her tight budget, and the girls could take a few bucks to the mall to shop with their friends. It took a few rounds of convincing to get mom to accept it, but when I told her I wasn’t backing down on this for the sixth time, she gave in with a sigh and a heartfelt thanks. Having expendable income would be a new concept for us all, but it was a welcome one that had me working harder and longer than the next model.
It had been a long day of photo shoots and fittings, and it would be another early one in the morning. Soren was working tonight, and he’d been trying to get me to stop by the restaurant all week to see where he worked. His bribe of free unlimited fries had finally worn me down.
Sullivan’s Pub was about a little over a mile from our apartment, so I took a different subway stop, which put me right there. The streets were buzzing in this little hub of the city, lots of people off work and grabbing a bite or a drink with friends. The pub looked busy, which was never my scene, especially after a long day, but before I could change my mind, Soren walked by one of the big windows and saw me. He waved me inside with his free arm. The other one was loaded down with a tray full of food.
It had been a crazy cold day for February, so the pub felt extra inviting when I stepped inside. I’d never been in an Irish pub before—not a lot of foreign culture in Hastings—but Soren had said this was your everyday classic-style pub except this one’s food was good. It seemed strange a restaurant could survive if the food sucked, but Soren had assured me people went to Irish pubs to drink beer and have a laugh. The food was an afterthought.
“I knew the lure of the fried potato would get you eventually.” Soren paused by me just inside the door before moving to a full table close by. “Any seat in the house. Just not in the bar.” He eyed the No Minors sign hanging inside the bar area nearby.
My eyes lifted. “Like you’re old enough to sit in the bar.”
“Yeah, but I have a fake ID. And facial hair.” He kept talking even as he dropped the food off at the table.
“Not sure facial hair’s a good look for me.” I tapped the back of his heel with my toe as I moved by him toward a free two-seater in the back.
“What do you want to drink?”