Delivery Girl (Minnesota Ice #1) Page 2

  Sure enough, it’s hers. The delivery girl—Andi is her name, judging by the receipt—is behind the wheel. Her vehicle clunks as it pulls away from the curb, spluttering black smoke that’s going to kill someone. She’s hunched over the wheel, looking like she’s seen a ghost, doing her best not to make eye contact with me.

  Scratching my head, I walk back inside, still not quite sure what just happened. All I know is that a few minutes ago, I was taking a shower and the doorbell rang, so I put on a towel, thinking I was the only one home. I came downstairs expecting to find my normal delivery guy: a fifteen-year-old pimply-faced dude, the sort of kid who doesn’t care if I’m in a towel or a fucking suit because all they want is a few bucks to buy more video games.

  So when I find the pizza waiting for me, I’m not surprised, because I ordered a pizza.

  However, I am surprised to find her. She’s every man’s fantasy, a gorgeous woman—big green eyes, soft lips quirked upward in a smile, a curvy little body underneath that horrible red company shirt. She’s holding a pizza, and it’s for me.

  By God, I love pizza, and I love beautiful women, and there on my doorstep were two of my favorite things. I must have done something right in this world to deserve that much beauty in one evening.

  What I don’t understand is why she seemed so surprised to see me. Isn’t it her job to deliver pizza? Meaning she shouldn’t be shocked when someone opens the door to collect said pizza? Sure, I wasn’t wearing a ton of clothes, but I didn’t show her my junk or anything—I’m not a complete animal, nor am I a nudist.

  Then she high-fived my chest and things officially turned weird, but she was adorable, which made the whole thing cute. I’d be willing to bet if she took off that stupid red polo shirt, which I’m sure her boss probably makes all the staff wear, she’d make for one helluva knockout.

  The way her legs filled out those tight jeans, the curve of her ass as she leaned forward to hand over the pizza…let me just say, I’m not sorry I looked as she walked away.

  I am sorry, however, that I’m stuck waiting in the entryway for a minute because of my reaction from her touch. How long has it been since I’ve had sex? Weeks? A month maybe?

  Whatever the count, I’m long frigging overdue for a good roll in the sack, and I’m ready just thinking about her again—that whole delicious, irresistible package, and I don’t mean the pizza.

  I daydream, remembering how her bright pink lips had twisted into a horrified sort of smile at the sight of the towel, while I wished I could wipe that smirk off her face with my lips, drag a kiss down her neck until she couldn’t help but follow me inside. I lean against the doorframe, the image ripe with possibility.

  Screw the pizza; I want the delivery girl.

  And that says something, because I fucking love pizza.

  “Ryan, bring the pizza inside!” It’s my brother again. “We’re starving.”

  Since he scored his latest deal, Lawrence believes he’s the king of the world. Sports agent extraordinaire, my big brother likes to think he can yell at me the way he used to when we were kids. Most days, I’d refuse to do what he said on principle, but not when it comes to pizza. I’m starving too, and my desire for the delivery girl only frustrates me more. I think I understand why people stress eat.

  I’m frigging stress eating. Pathetic.

  I round the corner and come face to face with two half-clothed individuals, my brother and his fiancée. I shield my eyes with a hand. “Aw, shit, you guys! What did I tell you about screwing each other in the living room when I’m home? I’m only here for a few weeks. Get ahold of yourselves.”

  My brother grins. “Look at her, bro. My fiancée is hot. We’re in love.”

  We’re this, we’re that. The last six months I’m not sure my brother has used the word I once. See, my brother used to be a big, huge, hairy, ugly, fatso dick. He wasn’t actually fat—he prides himself on looking all shiny and slick—but the other parts are true.

  Then he met Lilia, and he changed overnight. It’s almost cute, but I’ve said the word cute so many times in the last five minutes while thinking about that delivery girl that I’m about to hand over my man card.

  I’m using the word cute, and I’m stress eating. If I don’t get laid in the next week, I’m retiring from life. I’m serious. It’s that urgent.

  My brother is lucky, however. Their relationship works because Lilia’s an angel, pure and simple. She’s perfect for Lawrence. How she puts up with his temper, I don’t know, but it seems to work for them. Maybe they screw enough that he doesn’t get angry anymore. Stranger things have happened.

  Plus, she’s gorgeous—in a platonic sort of way. Lilia’s not my type, which works out well, since she’s exactly what my brother needs.

  “Here,” I say, handing the pizza over and taking a seat on the couch. I reach for a paper towel in the center of the table, averting my eyes as my brother and his fiancée double-check to make sure their clothing is straightened out. “I didn’t know you guys were going to be home.”

  “Us? We live here,” Lawrence says. “This is my house.”

  “Sorry, Ry,” Lilia says with an easy smile. “We didn’t realize you were here. Otherwise we might have taken things elsewhere.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  Lilia laughs, looking completely unapologetic while running a finger along her soon-to-be-husband’s cheek. It’s sickening. “You might have a point.”

  I take a slice of the pizza and shovel it into my mouth, shaking my head as I do so. One thing I love about Lilia is that she’s unapologetic about what she wants and who she is. It’s probably the reason she can go head to head with my asshole brother and put him in his place if he steps out of line. Like I’ve said before, they’re perfect together.

  If Lilia wants sex, she is going to get it, wherever she wants it, whether I am home or not.

  “I think you terrified the delivery girl,” I say. “She mumbled and smacked me in the chest. I think there were leaves in her hair. She probably heard your sexfest.”

  Lilia wrinkles her nose. “Oh no, poor thing.”

  “Poor thing?” Lawrence raises an eyebrow and then reaches over, pinching his fiancée’s butt playfully. “If the sounds coming out of your mouth were anything to go by, she got quite the show.”

  “Lawrence!” She swats at his hand, but there’s that post-sex, shit-eating grin on her face. “Sorry, Ry. We’re not used to someone else being around the house. We’ll be better, I promise.”

  “Maybe,” Lawrence says, a pained look on his face, as if he doesn’t really want to be better. “But I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Lilia gives him a look, and he falls silent. As I’ve mentioned before, he’ll do whatever Lilia wants, within reason.

  “Why are you guys home so early, anyway?” I eye my brother nonchalantly. “Things go well with Jocelyn?”

  He gives me a glance that says he knows I’m fishing for information. “Look who’s curious now.”

  I shrug and shovel more pizza into my mouth. I hate asking my brother for things, but the whole reason I’m out here in Los Angeles, staying in my brother’s sex-crazed house, is because Lawrence has managed to snag me a meeting with the one agent hotter than him at the moment: Jocelyn Jones.

  Her enemies call her the Blonde Bitch and her clients call her the Ice Queen. The one thing everyone can agree on is that she’s cold, she’s ruthless, and she’s freakishly smart. She’s also interested in taking me on as a client, and she thinks she can get me a trade to the LA Lightning, a team destined for the big trophy within the next few years. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “You’re young,” my brother says in answer to the question. He’s noncommittal, which doesn’t bode well for me. “She’s being cautious. You don’t have a reputation yet.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I say. “And I’m not a child—I’m twenty-six. I just fly under the radar.”

  “It worries her. You’re a good p
layer, smart, but you haven’t seen the limelight in a big way yet. The Minnesota Stars are a great team. Good solid coach, respectable captains—they’re a good influence on you.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So what?”

  “What happens when she throws you a bone with the LA Lightning? Are you going to run around with Cohen James?”

  I shrug. It’s my own business who I run around with, and if I choose to associate with Cohen James—Hollywood’s hockey playboy, a man constantly in and out of court, drinking, drugs, and worse—that’s my business. “Cohen is a great player.”

  “But he’s a shitty human being.”

  “You know me,” I say. “I’m not like that.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t.”

  I exhale a sigh of frustration. “Well, how do you want me to prove to her I’m not a dickhead?”

  “Spend some time with her,” Lawrence says with a smile. “You’re welcome, baby bro. I’ve booked the two of you dinner and a show next week. Be on your best behavior. If things go well, you might have a shot at a brand new agent.”

  “I don’t like her,” Lilia says. “She’s got those crazy eyes.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he likes her or not,” Lawrence says, rubbing his hand along his fiancée’s leg. “It just matters if they can do business together.”

  She frowns. “I suppose.”

  “And that’s a good thing, baby,” he says. “Because if Ryan signs with her for a big salary, he can buy his own damn house and leave us to bang wherever we please.”

  “Babe!” Lilia swats him again, but he wraps his hand around the back of her head and sticks his tongue down her throat so far I wonder if he can taste what she ate for lunch yesterday.

  I stand up, grab a stack of pizza slices, and head toward the door. “Next week?” I say. “Just dinner and a show with Jocelyn, and then I’m good?”

  Lawrence nods without removing his tongue from his fiancée’s throat. I take my pizza and leave, my thoughts caught somewhere between the delivery girl and Jocelyn Jones.

  CHAPTER 4

  Andi

  “Hi guys, Andi Peretti here. Thanks for making it out tonight.” I squint against the bright lights, taking in a grand total of three—count ’em, three—customers in the bar. The bar itself is located on Hollywood Boulevard. It’s dirty, loud, and dark, and it’s the only place where I can try out my new material without getting judged by the real professionals. “Sorry I’m running a little bit late, but I have a good reason, I promise.”

  I wait for the reaction, but it never comes. So I plow ahead, clearing my throat and diving right into my bit.

  My best friend, Lisa Schwartz, puts her fingers to her lips and gives a huge whistle as I begin my routine. “Yeah, girl!” She’s almost as unknown as I am in the comic world, which is why we make a good team. “You’re sexy!”

  Besides Lisa, the only other sane person is the bartender, who is being paid to watch me. Then there is Crazy Phil—his words, not mine. He lives next to the mailbox out front, somewhere between the curb and the front door. He’s my number one fan, aside from Lisa.

  Ten minutes later, the light at the back of the room flicks on and off, signaling my time on stage is coming to an end. I close with my most practiced joke, wave to the empty room, and then hand over the microphone to the bartender who doubles as MC.

  “Nice job, Andi,” says Rick the bartender. “You’re getting there.”

  “That’s the same thing you tell me every week.”

  “It’s true,” he says. “But I’ll stop saying it if you want.”

  Lisa, bless her heart, leaps up from the front row and runs to squeeze me as if I’ve just performed at the Laugh House. “You’re damn right, Rich! Pretty soon you’ll be paying her to play this bar.”

  I roll my eyes. They’re lying, but they know how to make me feel like a Snuggie inside—all warm and fuzzy and Cheetah-print.

  I accept a vodka soda from Rick. “You guys are sweet, but I’m going to be working for my dad until I retire.”

  “That’s not so bad.” Lisa grins. “At least you get free pizza.”

  “And a show,” I say, and then slowly, deliciously, I reveal my latest adventure to Lisa. I tell her all the gory details of the sexfest I witnessed, and I don’t leave out anything except for the fact that my car almost broke down when I tried to make a quick getaway.

  Lisa laughs at my descriptions, though I still haven’t dropped the biggest bomb of all on her. I haven’t revealed the mystery man behind the door.

  “Show up with another pizza tomorrow wearing nothing but a trench coat,” Lisa says thoughtfully. “See if he’ll give you the same service. It’s been a while for you, and you don’t want a dusty vagina.”

  “My vagina’s not dusty.”

  “You’ve gotta keep that shit active, or else it gets wrinkly!”

  “You’re disgusting, and anyway, this guy would never be seen with someone like me.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t say stupid stuff like that. You’re gorgeous, and you’re funny, and you totally deserve to be with anyone you want,” Lisa says. “Sure, you’re crazy, but so am I.”

  The real kicker is that she believes it; I can tell in her eyes, and this is why I love her. I propose to her then and there.

  “Sorry,” she says with a wink. “I’m not your type. It’s not you, girlfriend, it’s me.”

  “Well, even if he would consider helping keep my vagina from getting dusty, he’s obviously got a girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, that’s annoying.” Her eyes brighten. “Or…maybe it was a one-night stand! That could work for you. You’re not exactly Miss Spontaneous when it comes to men, and it’d be good for you. If he’s into one-night flings, see if you can sign yourself up. Consider it your MBA in sex. Very educational.”

  “Lisa—”

  “Well, I’m just saying he has to be super rich or super hot—otherwise, if I were the girl, I’d have waited for the pizza. I need my energy before I get busy.”

  “He’s both.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not telling me something.”

  I pull her close and drop my voice to a whisper. “Does the name Ryan Pierce mean anything to you?”

  “Shut the fucking front door.”

  “Yah. I’m positive.”

  “How positive?” Lisa sucks in a breath. “Let me dream about this moment for a second.”

  “Lisa—”

  “Hold on, bitch! I’m dreaming.”

  I fall silent as she dreams.

  Finally, she sighs. “Dang, I wish I had been there. I would’ve grabbed him.”

  “This is why my dad refuses to hire you.”

  Lisa scrunches up her face. “I suppose. So what’s your plan?”

  “What do you mean, plan?”

  “I mean, when are you going to see him again?”

  “I’m not.” I shrug. “I mean, maybe on TV, and I do collect magazines with his face on them, but he’ll never order from Peretti’s again after what happened tonight. I have a sneaking suspicion he knows I caught the end of the show.”

  “I’m torn between embarrassment for you and envy of you.”

  “Me too, which is why I forgot to collect payment from him, and now I owe my dad money.”

  “Go back!” Lisa’s eyes widen. “This is your opportunity! Show up and ask him for the money he owes you.”

  “No, that’s embarrassing!”

  “I’ll do it, then, and I’ll give him two options. How’s this?” Lisa takes a step back and gives some serious hip swagger. “Hello, Mr. Pierce. You have two options: either give me the pizza money, or take me inside and ravage me on your kitchen table. If you choose option two, the pie’s on me.”

  “Yeah, all right. Go ahead.” I wave for her to go outside first. “I’ve gotta run. Thanks for coming out tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I still say you go collect from Ryan.”

  “If I listened to all of your advice, I�
��d be in jail.”

  “Well, I’d be in jail with you.”

  “That’s why we’re best friends.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Andi

  I throw my car into park and hustle into Peretti’s just before two a.m. I skid through the door seconds before the cleaners lock the place up.

  “Here’s your money, Dad.” I don’t meet Angela’s eyes. She’s scrubbing a pan in the industrial sink and shooting daggers at me. “From my last delivery.”

  “You’re lucky.” My dad looks up. He’s sitting at one of the small diner tables counting out the day’s tips, blatantly ignoring the cash in my hand. “Turns out we have an honest customer.”

  “What are you talking about?” I tuck the crumpled bills back into my pocket before my dad can change his mind. I pulled them from my secret stash in the Toyota’s trunk where I keep cash for emergency scenarios, like when a hot man opens the door in a towel and turns my brain synapses into fireworks.

  “I got a phone call an hour ago from a guy who said he ordered a smiley face pizza. Said the delivery girl was very professional and delivered an excellent pizza, but that he forgot to pay. So, he gave me his credit card over the phone and took care of the bill.”

  “Oh, uh…” I clear my throat. “That was really nice of him.”

  My dad pushes his glasses higher on his nose. He peers over the sheet of paper where he’s tallied the sales by hand. He believes computers are evil and will rise up and kill us. Our tax guy is never impressed by this belief. Last Christmas, Angela and I invested in a laptop for him, hooked it up, showed him how to use it, and…he now uses it as a shelf for his lunch box.

  I turn to leave. “That’s nice. See you tomorrow.”

  “Andi, wait.” My dad stands. He sighs, counting out a few bills from the pile on his desk. “This is for you.”

  “What?” I gape at the stack of twenties in my hand. There are at least five of them here. I’m not particularly great at math, but I can calculate this one. “A hundred-dollar tip?”