3
"These shoes are so much more comfortable than those deathtraps Kate made me wear." You sigh happily and watch as a glob of greasy cheese slips off the crust and falls to the paper plate below.
You take a huge bite, and there's sauce all over the place.
I pass you a napkin, and you blush and wipe your face. I thought you were crazy when you grabbed my hand and pulled me down the sidewalk to a local pizza joint. The employees greeted us enthusiastically, calling you by your nickname, and warned me I'm going to have my hands full with you.
"So, Bells? I feel like there's a story behind that."
Your blush deepens, and you giggle. "I worked here for a few years while I was in school, and every Christmas I wore bells on my shoes. It drove everyone nuts, and the name just stuck." You shrug and take a sip of your beer.
I've never been out with a girl who ate more than a salad with the dressing on the side, and if they happened to drink beer, it was never straight from the bottle and never a brand served at a discount if you buy it by the bucket. You're so different you make my head spin.
"So, Kate refused to give me any dirt on you," you mention as you pour half a shaker of grated parmesan cheese on your pizza. "All I got was a date, location, and an outfit."
"She wasn't very forthcoming with information on you either."
You gasp and clutch your chest. "You know what this means, right?"
I shake my head.
"We're going to have to talk."
I chuckle, and you launch us into a game of twenty questions while we eat greasy pizza and split a bucket of Bud Light. I can't remember the last time I've laughed like this. The last time I've felt comfortable enough to let some of my guard down and be myself.
You make it easy to relax and be me.