Free The Two-Night One-Night Stand by Ryan Ringbloom Page B

Should I go straight home? Romeo’s garlicy aroma wafts into the car and makes that worry vanish. It’s just a little snow.
    I push open the door and the bells chime in the pizza place as I enter. The place is empty except for one booth in the back. I stumble a few steps from the snow on my heels, then rush up to the counter and point at the mushroom pizza behind the glass. “Can I get two slices and can you throw some extra cheese on them before you heat it up?”
    “No problem, I’ll bring ’em over to you when they’re ready.” The guy slices into the pizza. I stop at the refrigerator on my way to the table for a Snapple.
    Two men are wrapped up in conversation in a back booth; neither of them look up and notice me as I drop into the booth in front of theirs. I pop open my Snapple and read the fact. Only male turkeys gobble . I laugh and for some reason think of Matthew and how he blurted out that random fact at the hospital. If I hadn’t just been through one of the worst nights of my life, I probably would have found his awkwardness a little more endearing and taken more than a few quick seconds to admire the body I had gotten very familiar with on Halloween. But given the circumstances, all I had wanted was to get the fuck out of there. Stupid-ass Nick.
    Steam rises from the pizza that is placed in front of me. I’m anxious and fold up the first slice, shoving it into my mouth. The hot cheese burns my entire mouth and grease goes sliding down my chin to the front of my sweater. Shit! The silver napkin holder on my table is empty. I plop the pizza back down on the plate. “Hey, do you guys have a napkin?” I call out to the back of the head in the next booth. A bearded guy turns, sees my greasy mess, and grabs for a bunch of napkins and politely gets up from the table to walk them over to me. I rub the napkins down my chest, sopping up whatever grease I can. It doesn’t do much good. I have a feeling I just ruined my favorite sweater.
    “Holly?”
    I look up and see Matthew. But I know it’s not really him. The Snapple thing made me think of him, so between that and the booze, I just think it’s him.
    “Holly?” the guy questions again.
    “Matthew?” Wait. Is it actually him?
    “Holly?”
    “Matthew?”
    “Holly?”
    “Matthew?”
    “Okay, let me see if I can help you two figure this out.” The bearded guy steps in. “Is your name Holly?” I nod. “Good, we’re getting somewhere.” He laughs. “And yes, this is Matthew. We’re all clear on this? You’re Holly.” He points to me then moves his extended finger over toward Matthew. “And this is Matthew.”
    I stare at Matthew’s lopsided grin and messy brown hair. He adjusts his glasses, forcing me to zero in on his hazel eyes. All the alcohol coursing through my system can’t stop the heated pink tint from staining my cheeks.
    “I’m Jeremy,” bearded guy introduces himself. “Holly, why don’t you come sit with us?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just scoops my pizza plate and Snapple bottle up from the table and places them down on the table next to Matthew. “Have a seat.”
    I slowly slide out of the booth and go to take my new place next to Matthew. He’s frozen, stuck at the end of the booth, leaving no room for me to sit.
    “Matthew, scooch over so Holly can sit.” Jeremy swooshes his hand to the right, motioning for Matthew to move over. “You’ll have to forgive him, we hit the bar pretty hard tonight and over the course of the night we learned a few things about each other.” He strokes his beard. “For example, Matthew learned that I’m gay, and I learned that he’s a lightweight.”
    Matthew’s drunk too? That makes me feel a million times better. He moves over in the booth and I sink down next to him. Really close. We both look down at our thighs pressed up against each other’s. A jolt of electricity sizzles through me as memories of our night together play out in my mind. I hold my breath while