Cold Pizza by Melanie E.

1.

Light may move faster than sound, but I heard the click of the switch and the hum of the fluorescents kicking on well before the light struck my eyes and set me blinking.

“What the?!”

I grimaced as I stood up, not needing to wait for my eyes to adjust to know who was in the kitchen with me. “Ah, hey Jimmy!”

“Chris, that you?”

“Umm, yeah?”

“Jeezus!”

I stood stock still, a slice of cold pepperoni pizza in hand, as my roomie made a circle around me in our campus apartment’s cramped kitchenette.

I stood there, in my little emerald green dress and heels, with my face fully made up and my red hair - usually tied back and hidden under a hoodie - flowing freely around my shoulders, and tried my best not to let the terror I felt show.

I’d thought two AM would be late enough I could sneak out of my room and not be detected.

I’d thought that if I left the lights off and navigated by feel – no mean feat in five inch heels – that I’d be even stealthier.

Apparently I was wrong.

Jimmy finished his examination, and stopped in front of me. Even with my heels he stood almost three inches taller than me, and despite his boxers and baggy Ren and Stimpy tee shirt, and the sleepiness still evident in his eyes, I couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his size.

He looked me up and down one last time, then blinked numbly, still fighting his own tiredness. “You look like a chick,” he finally said, in an almost casual tone.

“Yeah?” I half-asked, feeling stupider by the moment as I stood there, pizza hovering half-way to my mouth exactly as it had been since he’d walked in. I carefully moved my hand a couple of inches further away, to make sure no errant sauce would find its way to my dress.

Pause.

“Kinda hot,” he said, with just a hint of a smile.

“...Thanks?” I asked, my voice cracking up an octave in surprise.

“No prob. This how we got that nail polish stain in the living room?”

“Umm….”

“Good to know,” Jimmy said, giving me a thumbs-up. We’d known each other long enough my non-answer was all the confirmation he needed.

With one last look Jimmy turned around and headed back down the hall, leaving the light on behind him and me standing there with my pizza, a shocked expression, and no clue what had just happened.

-==-

2.

The next morning it was my turn to walk into the kitchen and find my roomie munching a slice of leftover pizza at the counter. In Jimmy’s case, though, the green dress and heels were replaced with a pair of basketball shorts and a Lakers jersey, a common sight in the mornings. I wondered for a moment if I was catching him before or after his run, but decided it must be before due to the lack of BO permeating the air.

“Mornin’ glory,” he said as I walked in, lifting his pizza in salute.

“Mornin’,” I said back, looking anywhere but at his face as I slipped around him on my way toward the coffee pot. My nerves were still a bit raw from the night before, so rather than going for my normal caffeinated beverine I popped a cup of hot cocoa in the machine and pressed the button to start it churning.

Pup-pup-pup went the coffee maker, steaming chocolatey heaven drifting out and into my nose.

Munch-munch-munch went Jimmy, the rubbery texture of day-old Alphonso’s pizza being difficult to chew in any kind of quiet manner.

Grumble-grumble-grumble went my stomach, right in the middle, as I hoped against hope that Jimmy’s munching would end before the pot’s burbling, and that he’d head out for his run without either of us saying a word about the night before.

Drip.

Drip.

...Drip.

Munch.

Shit.

I continued my efforts at avoiding eye contact as I grabbed my cup and made my way to the little island that separated our kitchenette from our living area and hopped onto one of the rickety bar stools we kept there.

I tried my best to act casual. After all, maybe he’d think it was all a dream.

Or a prank.

Or my twin sister I’d never mentioned, stopping in for a snack on her way home from a night out clubbing, despite the fact the nearest club was over half an hour away and that was a VFW.

I was still staring at my cup of hot chocolate, trying to figure out if I could get away with claiming I was preparing for a charity drag show or something, when Jimmy’s hands rested on the counter in front of me, a clear indicator that he was probably behind them, leaning on the counter and looking at me, probably while wearing one of those smarmy smiles of his that always infuriated his girlfriends.

Making my first mistake of the morning, I looked up to confirm if the smarmy smile was there or not.

Yep.

I tried not to feel infuriated by that.

“So,” he said, the two letters hanging in the air like a Sword of Damocles.

“Mmm,” I said back, holding eye contact while lifting my hot chocolate in both hands and taking a long sip.

Maybe if I kept the cup to my mouth he’d give up and--

“Nice nail polish.”

“Fuck!” I yelped, almost dropping my cup as I splayed the fingers on my left hand and checked for remnants, sure I’d….

I had gotten it all.

I glared at Jimmy.

Jimmy smiled smarmily.

I seethed, even as I felt my face begin to burn with embarrassment.

“So,” the bastard said again.

“Would you believe it was all a rarebit hallucination?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

“Spill.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? What do you – wait!” I sat my cup down as quickly as I could and almost fell as I hopped off the stool, but between Jimmy’s longer stride and my having to circle around the island I had no chance of catching him before he got to my room, walking in without so much as a by-your-leave.

“You sonuvabitch, don’t you dare get in my stuff!” I growled as I followed him in, to find him standing in front of my closet with the door wide open.

“I’m not getting in anything, the door was already cracked.”

“Was not!”

“Was too. See? Right there,” he said, pointing at a chip in the paint before turning back to the closet’s contents. “The green was nice, but I think the blue one is more your color.”

“Jimmy!” I wailed, now on the verge of losing all control as I sunk to my knees, fighting hard as I could not to cry.

The smile on Jimmy’s face faltered when he finally looked at me again and noticed how close I was to breaking down, and for a moment I almost expected him to reach out to me. Instead, his smile changed, the smarm disappearing as he closed my closet and held up his hands.

“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s cool, okay? It’s cool,” he said, stepping around me toward the bedroom door. “I’m gonna go for my run. Can we chat when I get back?”

I sniffled, but didn’t say anything.

“Please?” He asked, his smile once again slipping, this time into a concerned frown.

“...fine.”

“Good.” Jimmy said, then turned away from me and walked out the door. I was debating whether I wanted to cry or scream when he popped his head back around the frame. “Oh, and Chris?”

“Yeah?” I managed to squeak out.

“I was serious about the blue.”

With that, his head disappeared again, and before I could do anything I heard the click of the front door closing behind him on his way out.

-==-