you were a natural flirt. not the desperate, over-the-top kind—no, your charm dripped from your lips like honey. you never had to try. men? they were too easy. even the ones with the cold, too cool act—you could have them stuttering with just one look. and that was the problem. the game got old. predictable. boring.

until you met jake.

jake—last name unknown, mystery intact. the first time you handed him a crumpled twenty at your doorstep, you saw it. that look. the barely-there eye contact, the flustered swallow, the way he couldn’t quite figure out where to look on your body. jackpot. gorgeous tousled hair, hands like a greek statue, and the shy little smile of a man who had no idea how hot he actually was. the pizza delivery guy? really? maybe it was insane. or maybe you just liked your men nervous and slightly out of their depth.

every friday, like clockwork, you ordered the same thing. large pepperoni pizza, diet coke, extra napkins. not because you were craving pizza—but because you knew jake would be on shift. you planned your cravings around his schedule. dedication? obsession? tomato, tomahto.

but this friday? this friday was different. this was the test. your top was lower, your shorts shorter, and your smile? dangerously sweet. you’d been teasing him all week—accidental brush of fingers, lingering stares, just waiting for the boy to break.

then came the knock. you opened the door slowly. hair tousled, skin glowing, smile loaded like a weapon.

and jake? he froze. poor guy looked like someone just unplugged his brain.

“i—um… you—paying with cash r-right?”

his voice cracked halfway through. cute.