“It’s not disgusting. It’s delicious.” I take a huge bite and moan my delight. It doesn’t even matter that it’s cold; it’s still awesome, and I haven’t eaten since lunch. I cover my mouth with my hand. “Yours is boring.”

“Three kinds of meat isn’t boring.”

“It’s certainly not adventurous.”

“Fruit on a pizza is not adventurous, Stevie. It’s gross and wrong.”

“Tomatoes are technically a fruit, and they’re slathered all over pizza,” I point out.

“Yeah, but they’re not sweet, they’re savory, and they live in the vegetable area of the grocery store, so it’s not the same. Would you put peach slices on your pizza? No. You wouldn’t, so you shouldn’t put things like pineapple on it either. Especially with something as repulsive as green olives.”

“Let it all out, Shippy. Tell me how you really feel.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Call you what, Shippy?”

He pokes at the corner of his mouth and gives me a dirty look. “Stop.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll smear that pizza all over your face.”

“Do that and I’ll make sure you regret it tomorrow during our rehab session.”

“What’re you gonna do, wear a thong and tassels and use my leg for pole dancing?”

“That sounds a lot like a fantasy, Shippy.”

He makes a grab for my pizza slice, but I’m not the injured one. I roll off the couch and spring to my feet. “So slow, Shippy. You need to work on your reaction time.”

“I hate that nickname so much, you don’t even know.”

“Fine, I’ll stop . . . if you try my gross pizza.”

“No.”

I lift a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Have it your way, Shippy.” Every time I use it, it grows on me a little more. It’s really kind of horrible, and it doesn’t seem to fit him at all, which is maybe why I like it so much. Also, his irritation is entertaining.

I drop down on the far side of the couch and take another bite of my pizza, making enjoyment noises.

“Seriously?” Bishop arches a brow.

“What’s wrong, Shippy?”

“Aside from you calling me Shippy five hundred times in the last two minutes, you sound like you’re getting off on your pizza.”

“It’s really good. Just take one bite, and I’ll never use that nickname again.” I edge closer.

“Fucking fine. One bite. Then no more of this Shippy shit.”

“I bet you’ll love it and order it in secret all the time.” He’s stretched out on the couch, legs spread wide, bruises on display. I move closer until my knees touch the side of his thigh and hold the slice in front of his face.

He purses his lips and turns his head, like a kid who doesn’t like his dinner. “If I don’t like it, I’m spitting it out.”

“Nope. You’re not a toddler. You have to swallow.” I get right into his personal space, kind of like he did with me when he was making Joey uncomfortable.

“I don’t even like the way it smells. I’m definitely not going to like the way it tastes.”

“If women can stomach jizz, you can swallow a bite of this pizza.”

His eyebrows lift. “Does that mean you’re a swallower?”

“No point in tasting it twice. Besides, all the salty taste buds are at the front. If I’m already in the middle of a deep throat, it makes more sense to swallow rather than swish all that nasty gelatinous crap over all of my taste buds so I get the bitter, the sour, and the salty.”

Bishop’s mouth drops open for a second and snaps shut just as quickly. His jaw tics and his eyes darken. “Your ex really is an idiot. Who cheats on a woman who willingly swallows?”

“I’m the idiot for staying with him for as long as I did.” I poke him in the lip with the end of the pizza slice. “Take a nice big bite so you get an olive and some pineapple.”

“If I barf on you, I’m not apologizing.”

“Stop being such a baby and take a bite.”

“Fine.” He takes a robust bite and almost gets one of my fingers.

His expression is priceless, and if my phone were closer, I would totally snap a pic and add it to his personal contact. He does that thing that reminds me of a cat before it throws up, like he’s gagging.

“Swallow it, Shippy.”

He narrows his eyes and chews faster, his throat bobs, and he reaches around me for his beer, guzzling what’s left in the bottle. “Nasty.”

“It’s better when it’s hot.”

“I would rather eat a dirty, sweaty pussy than take another bite of that disgusting combination of toppings.” He shoves half his slice of all-meat-and-cheese pizza into his mouth, presumably to cover the olive-pineapple taste he’s not so fond of.

“I haven’t showered since yesterday, so I have one of those if you feel like dessert.” I slap a palm over my mouth. “Oh my God. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

A slow smirk spreads across Bishop’s face. “First you tell me you’re a swallower, and then you offer me up your pussy for dessert? When I’m ninety years old and senile, I’ll still remember this conversation.”