Free Pieces of Me by Erica Cope Page B

some sort of double date. Not a real one of course, but it certainly looks like one. And while it ended up being much more fun than I anticipated, I'm not sure what to do now. Going out to dinner seems even more 'date like' but is there a way to get out of it without making the situation awkward for everyone?
                  Holden must have read my expression accurately because he says, “It's only pizza among ‘just’ friends.” He cocks an eyebrow and gives me what I think is an I-dare-you look.
                  “Yeah, c'mon Aria,” Beck says. “There's this really great pub just down the street that I know you would love.” He casually drapes an arm around Olivia's shoulders causing her to beam up at him.
                  “And how do you know me well enough to make such a presumption? Maybe I hate pizza.” I argue.
                  “Who hates pizza?” Beck asks, shocked. “That's like un-American.”
                  “Pretty sure pizza is Italian,” I point out.
                  “Boys,” Olivia mutters with a laugh as she shakes her head, though the look on her face clearly expresses that she finds Beck endearing.
                  “Yeah, if she were to say she hates—I don't know,  hotdogs or something, then that would be un-American,” Holden says, giving me that look of his that's beginning to feel familiar—the one that makes it seem like he can only see me. “So, do you hate hotdogs?”
                  “Not particularly,” I concede before sighing in resignation. “I don't hate pizza either.”
                  “Good.” Holden smiles brightly. “Let's go.”
                  After all, Olivia is my ride home and it would pretty much ruin her date if I demand that she take me home. I'll just make sure that I sit on the same side of the table as her. It probably won't be that bad and I realize that I am actually pretty hungry.
                  It's just pizza with friends. It doesn't mean anything.
                  But if that's true, why I can't squash this feeling that by being here, by hanging out and reluctantly having fun with friends, I'm somehow betraying Sean?

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
     
    I don't even look at the phone to see who is calling before I answer it. Since I allowed myself the luxury of spending all day Saturday hanging out with Olivia, Beck, and Holden, I had to  make up for it on Sunday by cramming in some much needed studying. At some point I had apparently dozed off in the middle of the study session. When I pry open my heavy lids I realize I am curled up on the living room floor surrounded by books, papers, a half-eaten pizza, and four different coffee cups, one of which has spilled all over one of my notebooks.
              Lovely.
              Waking up with pizza stuck to the front of my shirt and my cheek damp with what I can only assume is drool is not exactly the best way to start the day. If you looked up 'Hot-Mess' in the dictionary, I'm pretty  sure it'd be a picture of my pathetic self this morning.
              I need coffee.
              “Hello?” I manage to mumble the words groggily.
              “Aria? Are you okay?  You sound sick? Are you ill? Do I need to come there? This is the reason I was not comfortable with you living on your own right now. Did you forget to turn on your heater? Are you dressing warm enough? I wish you would stop being ridiculous and just drive the car that I have on very good authority your father has parked in front of your apartment building. Why do you have to be so stubborn? We just want to take care of you—”
              “Hello, Mother.” And this is exactly why I make a point to always screen my calls.
              “Don't take that sassy tone with