Bree shoots Asher a cold glare. “Let’s go. There’s food at the bar.”

“But not pizza,” I cry.

“You’ll survive.”

I don’t think I will. Pizza is my only life source. I feel like I’m drowning, which makes no sense, but the world is spinning and I’m hungry.

We cross the street and I only realize how dizzy I am when headlights reflect in my eyes in all the wrong ways. I’m seeing spots. I stumble.

“Jesus.” Asher has a grip around my arm. “You need to go home.”

“I have a date with a karaoke machine,” I say. “And Deacon. Where’s Deacon? We have a lot of naked business to tend to.”

“With that sort of bedside manner? No wonder he ran.”

“My bedside manner is fan-fucking-tastic,” I say. “My in-the-bed manner is also fantastic. I’m a very generous lover.”

“Whatever you say, Olivia.”

We cross another street and Asher is still holding onto me. I almost roll my ankle, but I manage to retain what little grace I have left. It’s a Christmas miracle that I haven’t face planted yet.

“Liv!”

This is my drunken version of a romantic comedy. Deacon is running through traffic. Arms flailing in the winter wind, trying to grab my attention. We’re star-crossed lovers the world is trying to keep apart. But we keep fighting it. And he hands me his heart in the form of a greasy slice on a white paper plate.

I’m in love.

“Here’s your pizza.” He’s out of breath but smiling. I’m pretty sure Asher is having an aneurysm.

I also might be having an aneurysm.

“This is so sexy.” I have pizza sauce and cheese dripping down my chin. I look so attractive. I’m turning everyone on.

“Liv, please stop making those sounds,” Emanuel says. “You’re scarring me for life.”

“It’s so good,” I say. “I think I’m having an orgasm.”

“It sure does sound like you are,” Bree says.

I inhale the pizza in seconds and when I finish, I throw my arms around Deacon and kiss his cheek.

“You are such a gentleman.”

“Right,” Asher says as he pulls open the door to the bar. “Cheap vodka and greasy pizza. Those are some standards.”

“What can I say? I’m easy to please.”

The bar is so crowded that I’m up close and personal with every single person I try to pass. It’s hot and musty, which doesn’t help the fact that I already feel lightheaded. I rip off my coat and shove it at whoever is next to me. Thank God it’s Emanuel. I can’t afford to lose that jacket.

“I need a drink.” I throw myself over the bar, which scares the tender. “Something pink!”