Page 44 of It Kills Me
We left my apartment and walked down the street until we found a pizzeria. There was nobody in there, so we picked a table and sat together. He ordered a beer, and I ordered a water.
“What do you want?”
“I usually get the margherita.”
He handed over the menu. “We’ll split the margherita pizza.”
The waiter walked away, and the cooks got to work in the back. Soon afterward, more people started to file in, like they’d all run out of groceries and needed more than cereal too. Axel was relaxed in his chair, his muscular arms folded over his chest, his eyes on me across the table like he hadn’t already stared at me all night.
His stare had been overwhelming at first, but I was getting used to it. He could handle intense eye contact for long periods of time, but I could barely meet someone’s gaze for more than a few seconds. “Do you always stare at people like that?”
“Only those I like…and hate.”
“I wonder which category I fall under.”
A ghost of a smirk moved on to his lips. “I don’t fuck people I hate.”
My eyes moved around the pizzeria, the sounds of conversation growing louder as people started to chat. But it still felt as if we were the only people in that little shop. We’d had a long night doing dirty things, but I suspected when we returned to my apartment, he would make another move. “When I texted you earlier…”
He released a sarcastic chuckle. “You’re going to start this shit again?”
“I just think we need to talk about it.”
His eyes moved elsewhere, his intensity shattered. “Whatever you say, baby.”
“I asked my dad why he felt so strongly about the whole thing.”
His eyes immediately flicked back to me.
“And he told me he was seeing this woman a while ago, met her through mutual contacts, and for whatever reason, it got ugly and she made his life a living hell. Damaged his business and gave him a lot of grief. That’s why he doesn’t mix the two anymore.”
“You don’t think asking him that question will draw his attention?”
“I’ve always been curious anyway.”
The waiter came over with our pizza and two plates.
I grabbed a piece and put it on my plate.
He either wasn’t hungry or had lost his appetite with the conversation because he didn’t touch it.
“I would hate it if this, whatever this is, affected his business.”
“Why would it?” he asked in a bored voice.
“I—I don’t know. Sex makes things complicated.”
“Sex is the most uncomplicated thing there ever was,” he said calmly.
After I’d sent that text that we should cool things off, he was at my door in less than ten minutes. “When I tried to end things, you stormed to my apartment?—”
“Just because I wanted to speak to you directly doesn’t mean I would take out my anger on your business. Your business has nothing to do with the two of us. That would be immature and petty—and I’m neither of those things.” His eyes were hard again, staring me down with the intensity of the sun. “You’re the immature one for trying to break things off in a fucking text message.”
“We aren’t serious enough for a conversation?—”
“When we fuck the way we do, I’d say that’s serious enough.” His eyes were elsewhere again. His mood had turned foul. It blasted from him like heat from a furnace.
I took a few bites of my pizza, but truth be told, I wasn’t all that hungry anymore. “I just think we should come up with some boundaries. If this is going to continue, we need to set expectations?—”