Pizza Delivery, III.

This series, written several months in retrospect, loosely follows from this post. Hint: pizza represents something else.  
Have a great weekend and new month. Enjoy this and/or good pizza! ~~

Anticipation simmered as we attempted to mesh schedules for several days. My birthday related plans, and Delivery Boy’s long work hours, posed challenges. 

Alas, we nailed it down: “I know it’s last minute,” he told me one evening, “but I have a birthday gift for you. I want to see your face when you open it. Are you free tonight?”

I tried to play it cool. “Ah, you shouldn’t have. I’ll be right over.”  We laughed.  “Actually, give me an hour.”

Fifty-nine minutes later, Delivery Boy welcomed me into his dimly lit apartment. I couldn’t see much but a romantic glow from a cluster of candles on the coffee table. He took my hand and walked me to the sofa, where we sat side by side. Delivery Boy reached for a wrapped package near the candles, about the size of a DVD. “Belated happy birthday, Robyn.”

"You shouldn’t have.”  I gushed and ripped off the packaging. “‘Airplane!’ I love it!" 

"Thanks," I whispered, leaning towards him. Before I knew it, anticipatory nibbling, intense kneading, and simultaneous salivation had begun. Pizza was in the works. “Just to let you know,” I said, pausing momentarily, “I don’t usually have pizza so fast. Actually, I don’t usually have pizza at all. And never without a condiment.”  

He reassured. “Don’t worry. I know you’re not like that. I’m not either. I just really like you.”

Delivery Boy slipped a condiment out of his pocket. "We don’t have to, but just in case.”

The room heated, as ingredients were positioned, spices piled on, and fingertips caressed the dough. Pizza warmed slowly, then quickly, then slowly and quickly again. The moment my appetite peaked, he delivered a hot combination pizza with hearty sausage. I ravaged extra string cheese... And then we ate more. And more.

Hours later and fully sated, I slowly collected myself.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, walking me to my car.  

I drove home in a giddy haze. Did I really just eat all that pizza? I forgot how good it tastes.

Note to self: You didn’t see the check. Pizza has its price.

Note in response to note to self: Did you say something? I didn’t hear you. ‘Cuz I got pizza! Pizza! Pizza!

 
To be continued.