Reality Girl: Episode One by Jessica Hildreth

water?”
    “Sure.”
    He poured me a glass of water and slid it across the bar. “Why don’t you have to worry about it anymore? You quitting?”
    “No. I won’t quit. But I’m done with him . Maybe we can salvage a friendship from it.”
    “Why is it that all women want to try and be friends with a guy after he fucks them over? It’s like you can’t accept that some people just don’t deserve to have friends. This guy sounds like a grade ‘A’ prick. Just kick him to the side.”
    I took a drink of water. It tasted awful. “I don’t know if it’ll be that easy.”
    “Jesus. You two have already bumped uglies, haven’t you?”
    I glared at him. “Why do you say that?”
    “The way you said, I don’t know if it’ll be that easy. Just sounds like you’re fucking.”
    I didn’t respond.
    “How long have you been there?” he asked.
    I tried to silently count the days, but my pickled mind couldn’t seem to do so. I was going to guess, then before I could prepare a response, he continued. “Shit, it’s only been a week, hasn’t it?”
    The answer came to me. It was Tuesday. I sighed. “Eight.”
    “You’ve fucked eight times, or it’s been eight days?”
    “Eight days, we’ve boned twice.”
    “Well, at least there’s only twenty left,” he said.
    “Twenty what?”
    “Days.”
    I buried my head in my hands. “I’ll probably be spending more time in here, that’s for sure.”
    “Okay by me.” he stood up. “Here comes your pizza.”
    I smelled the pizza long before I saw it, and even though I really wanted to eat it, was slow to raise my head. By the time I did, it was in front of me on a plate. I opened both of my eyes and admired the medley of vegetables on what was the largest pizza I had ever seen.
    “Lock that front door, will ya, Pete?” Franky pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and tossed them in the air.
    I glanced over my shoulder. A middle-aged Hispanic man snatched them from the air and nodded. “Sure.”
    “He’s the cook?”
    “Juan. He came with the bar. Great guy.”
    “I thought you called him Pete?”
    “I did.”
    I reached for a slice of pizza and shook my head. “Why?”
    “Too many Juan’s in San Diego County. I call him Pete to save confusion.”
    “Oh.”
    I lifted the slice of pizza to my mouth and took a bite. Franky was right, the pizza was great.
    “This is really good.”
    “They’re really good when you’re drunk. Sober, they’re a solid 7 out of 10.”
    I took another bite and shook my head. “This is a ten.”
    “You have minimal pizza experience, or you’re drunker than I thought. When did you get here?”
    “Dinner time.”
    “When’s dinner time for you two love birds?”
    “Stop it,” I whined. “I don’t know, six or something.”
    “Wow. Eight hours of margaritas.”
    I devoured the rest of the slice and reached for another. “Eight hours?”
    “It’s two o’ clock. It’s tomorrow . We’re locking up.”
    I couldn’t believe I had been there for eight hours. “Holy crap. Can I finish this?”
    “Just like I said the other day. Movie stars get special privileges. You can stay as long as you want.”
    “Thank you.” I folded the pizza and raised it to my mouth. “Want a slice?”
    He narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “With onions and peppers?”
    I shrugged. “Your loss.”
    “Just kidding.” He reached across the bar and grabbed a slice. “This is the only way I like it.”
    I studied him as I ate my piece of pizza. Dressed as usual – in jeans, a blue tee shirt, and sneakers, he looked cute.
    “I can stay as long as I want, huh?”
    He looked up and nodded. “Yep.”
    “I want to stay here until this is gone. Will you help me finish it?”
    “Will I share a pizza with a gorgeous woman? Let me think on that for a minute,” he said. He reached for another slice. “I think so.”
    “Good,” I said. “Because I really don’t want to go home.”
    “Never?” he asked.
    “I don’t know