"Pizza," he said at the brisk knock on the door.
He snatched his wallet off the workbench and, still shirtless and barefoot, went to the door. "Hey, Mike, how's it going?"
"Hanging loose."
The skinny, pimply-faced teenager handed Seth the pizza box. Then his gaze shifted, and he caught sight of Dru. The way his Adam's apple bobbed, the way surprise, interest and envy sped over his young, bumpy face, warned Dru there would be fresh fruit on the grapevine, and it would have her and Seth clustered together.
"Um, hi. Um. Grandma sent you a bunch of napkins and stuff." He shoved the paper bag into Seth's hands as well.
"Great. Tell her thanks. Here you go, Mike. Keep the change."
"Yeah. Well. Um. See you."
"Looks like Mike's got a little crush on you," Seth commented as he booted the door closed.
"I'd say Mike's double-timing it back to Village Pizza so he can spread the word that the artist and the florist are having hot pizza and hot sex."
"I hope he's right. If we're going to make the first part come true, we'd better dig into this."
Chesapeake Blue
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By U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate Airman Bo J. Flannigan - This Image was released by the United States Navy with the ID 040814-N-5781F-033
Delivering pizza isn’t the most glamorous job. Most of the time pizza delivery people are high school or college kids just trying to make a few bucks after school, but some may even be trying to make a more substantial living. They sacrifice their evenings and weekends to hand-deliver your dinner so you can cook less and enjoy life more. Here are all the reasons they might secretly hate you — and how to fix them.
