How To Order Pizza - Feisty Series (1 of 5)

~Juliet’s Point of View~

“I’m seriously done for the damn night, don’t call me I won’t answer,” I said, as I threw my apron on the counter and grabbed my purse. 

Jakob gave me a salute as he went to answer the phone that never stops ringing. Job security, he would say. But tonight I was over it.

I’d been at my restaurant for thirteen painfully long hours, not uncommon for a Saturday. But tonight I was stuck here way later than usual. I grimaced at the clock in my car as I threw myself in, 12:01am. My whole body ached in every place imaginable and all I wanted was a long soak in the tub.

I owned a pizza shop and bakery in Charlotte, North Carolina with my sister Jada and her husband Jakob, and they were pretty much my only friends. Yup, I was turning the big 3-0 in a few months, I had no friends and lived in my sister’s guesthouse. Pathetic huh? 

If I had a life I’d be at the Feisty concert tonight, a hard rock band that was playing at the stadium a few miles away. Well, in all fairness I did try to get tickets but they had sold out within about an hour of going on sale. The bottom line was that had I somehow managed to score seats, I would have had to go alone. Instead, us three owners were busting our asses so a lot of the staff could go. I had no clue how they were able to get tickets.

Jada was eight and a half months preggo and Jakob was the biggest workaholic out of the three of us, opting to pretty much spend all his weekends overseeing Cross Roads, our little slice of the world. We had this crazy pipe dream to open our own shop about seven years ago and it was pretty tough those first years but we got a following and then blew up. Now at peak lunch and dinner times we have a line down the block to get in.

We had just been a grab and go place for a long time but two years ago we were doing so well we bought the building next door, blew out a wall and put in seating which forced us to triple our staff but the money poured in.

Not bad for a culinary school dropout, a mad baker who just winged it … never using a recipe … and then me, a curvy girl with a spicy mouth that had no real direction in her life. The American dream was at work with our little team.

I normally don’t deal with people or food. My mouth, sarcasm and short fuse don’t usually mix well with the general public. Half the time I’m holed up in a dimly lit office in the back, handling the books, website, advertising and social media. We have over three million followers on I*******m, since my sharp tongue with some of our reviews has become a phenomenon. I get requests all the time for interviews or to show my face when I do a live broadcast but I never do it. Jada and Jakob are the face of Cross Roads and I tend to keep it that way.

I’d just peeled myself out of a nice long soak in my jetted tub when the dreaded phone rang. A quick glance at the screen told me it was 12:42am, and the caller was Jada. I was damn tempted not to answer but she is my sister after all.

“Juliet! Oh thank god. I need you,” she moaned, and it made me jolt.

“Are you okay? Is it the baby,” I snapped, suddenly very concerned. She was nearly 36 weeks, but it was way too early!

“Yeah, I think but could be false labor, not sure. Look we got a massive fucking order, twenty pies and wings, all kinds of shit like $600 worth. I was going to deliver it but well I’m delivering something else apparently. You’ll need the van. I left it out back with the keys in and got an Uber,” she said, out of breath.

“Where are you? I thought Jakob didn’t let you deliver after 10,” I said, questioning.

Jada and I were too much alike, we both did and said what we wanted and there was no way around it. Poor Jakob always took it in stride but I knew we could be a bit much at times. During the day she stayed back in the kitchen, whipping up a plethora of baked goodies that helped contribute to the fact that I was happily plump. Overweight or not I was still sorta fit since I did run around the place a chunk of the day. I dealt with the mail, banking and all that.

“He doesn’t like me to, but we’re so short with the concert duh. Hector got a damn ticket speeding around tonight, trying to get all the deliveries done. I told him we’d pay for it. But that was an unhappy customer whose stuff was late and cold, probably will be a bad review,” she groaned.

Can’t please everyone, I dare them to say some negative shit, I’ll squash them.

“But where ARE you physically located at this moment in time bitch,” I snapped again, fumbling around to get some panties on. I had to do laundry and only had some sexy pairs clean that would probably ride up but there was no time. I usually only wore my nakee time knickers when I wasn’t planning on wearing them too long.

“I’m pulling up to the hospital now, calm your balls. Jakob kicked everyone out and he’s got the order ready to go. I just need you to carry it over to the hotel, it’ll probably be a fat tip too, it's already paid with a credit card … come on Juliet get your ass up, love you auntie,” she said, hanging up.

I groaned and tossed on a basic wine colored stretchy knee length house dress and flip flops, I didn’t need to win a beauty contest. My pride protested that I should at least put my Spanx on but there was no time. It was a miracle I caged the girls in a bra. I tossed my damp hair in a bun on top of my head and didn’t bother with make-up.

Thankfully we lived less than five minutes from the restaurant, but it took me four trips to get everything in the van. Was this for a damn party or something? At 1 in the morning? I just shook my head.

Between concerts, sporting events and all kinds of other things, there was never a shortage of happenings going on. Another reason we stayed so busy. My bank account wasn’t complaining but I would certainly be going through some resumes on Monday because we need more help ASAP.

I made my way to the hotel and immediately saw several large … tour buses. Oh fuck me. Is this … for the band? My stomach immediately did flips, my mind wandered a million miles a second. Was I … about to meet Feisty?

The immediate picture you get when you hear the name is that of their front man and lead guitarist, Jude Stone. He’s absolutely like the James Dean of our time. Just classically handsome without even trying. His jet black hair is a stark contrast against his green eyes, which are famous all over the world for tantalizing women. The guy was like the Gene Simmons of my generation, and probably had kids in every time zone he didn’t even know about. Never met a vagina he didn’t like.

I snatched a $50 bill out of my wallet and shoved it into my bra, opting not to take in my purse since there was already enough to carry. I did however have pockets on my dress and I dropped my keys in one.

I quickly bribed the hotel security guard into helping me get everything on to a cart and coming up with me. To a penthouse suite. Ohh fuck it IS for them, I just know it. I ran back out to move the van into a real parking spot since I was blocking the door and suddenly felt like a hot mess.

As the elevator moved my palms grew sweaty. Well when a chubby girl is nervous everything sweats. At least I was freshly bathed and had put on deodorant. I shifted on my feet, my thighs were rubbing together and scolding me for not wearing one of the girdles I never leave the house without. Oh what does it matter, no one is going to look twice at me or my muffin top!

Would I actually see the band or maybe just some of their lackeys? Shit, even their drummer, Lukas Trent is known the world over to be fine as hell. He was just on the cover of Rolling Stone for a solo project he’s dropping later this month after this tour ends. His first single was already out and it was pure sex, if I could manage to find someone to do it with I would certainly play that during!  And yeah … I may follow them online just a bit. By a bit I mean all of their individual social medias and their official website.

“It’s down at the end,” the guard said, as he pushed the cart out. 

There were people littering the halls on both sides. Were they groupies or roadies? Both? Did the band rent the whole damn floor? They must have. I kept my head mostly down and cringed at the slight flapping of my cheap flip-flops that I could just hear over various music coming from some open doors.

I got to the door that the guard indicated, took a deep breath and knocked. Hold it together Juliet, hold your shit together! Professional! 

The door flew open to reveal a very tattooed and shirtless Corey Pierce, their bass player. He had on combat boots and tight black jeans. I could swear I felt my clit literally pulse. He was sweaty and reeked of booze. I licked my lips and tried to slap myself into reality.

“Did you order from Cross Roads,” I asked, trying not to seem phased. 

I mean hell, I’ve met most of the Panthers roster and the Hornets, they love our place, why was this a big deal? We had celebrities in all the time and they loved me, I always managed to snag photos. Fuck, why didn’t I bring my phone!!

“Sure did, we’re fucking starving! Thanks a million,” he said, as a horde of people stormed us, grabbing at anything they could, damn near knocking me over.

He licked his lips and stepped toward me, I froze like an idiot. 

“I know it’s late so thanks doll,” he said, handing me a wad of cash. I quickly looked at my hand to see at least five hundred dollar bills. I gulped and stuffed the cash in my pocket.

“Not a problem, actually if you wanted to thank me you’d give us a shout out on your I*******m,” I said, smiling and trying to put my business hat on.

“Oh yeah! I’ve had your stuff before you know, we’ve been like on tour continuously for years,” he said, snatching a slice from a box someone walked around with.

“Happy to hear it, sorry I missed the show tonight. We let a lot of the employees be off so they could go,” I said, wanting him to know I was an owner.

“Nice, you run the place,” he asked, actually still talking to me as he ate.

“Part owner actually, Juliet Cook,” I said, holding out my hand. 

He smiled and wiped his greasy hand on his pants before shaking mine. His hands were rough and large, but warm. 

He touched me. 

Corey Pierce … touched me.

“You should hang out,” a voice said, pushing past him. 

I gulped as I took in their also half naked rhythm guitarist, Trey Comstock. He was relatively low profile when compared to the rest of the guys but damn he was a sight for sore eyes. Eyes that hadn’t seen a male naked in over a year. I had a horrible encounter with Tinder, it’s a long story.

“Yeah Cook right? Cookie! Everyone this is Cookie,” Corey shouted and I was instantly mortified. 

Yeah, the fat girl is cookie. Hardly the first time in my life someone came up with the nickname, but among a bunch of hot as fuck celebrities it was hardly the time I would like to have it used. Why didn’t I just leave it at my first name?! My good mood immediately soured and against every ounce of better judgment, I took a step back.

“Actually it’s really late and I’ve had a hell of a day, so just enjoy. Look forward to your post though,” I smiled, as Corey nodded, snatching another slice.

Fuck I must be out of my MIND leaving. But Jada … I had to check on Jada, or so I told myself.

“Nice meeting you Cookie, thanks again,” he said, as he shut the door. 

I turned to see the guard and the cart were gone and most of the people had dispersed, likely gone to their rooms to eat.

I went from literally feeling high as a kite at getting to meet every girl’s wet dreams to feeling like the chubby size 14 that everyone saw me as. I made a face and turned on my heel, mumbling to myself.

I made it a few steps when a door opened and a man stepped out, blocking my path. The bright and dark colors of his arms mesmerized me.

“Damn baby, you’re exactly what I need. A real woman,” a voice said, making me look up.

Fuck … me.

Just inches from me stood Jude Stone, without a shirt and his leather pants undone. My eyes followed down his chest to see … the base of his penis just peeking out. Suddenly his colorful tattooed hands and arms were around my body and my feet were moving with him. His weight crushed to my chest, his lips catching me completely off guard. He smelled like the strong but subtle cologne of a real man, some sweat mixed in … but with a side of sin. My ovaries practically jumped out of my uterus.

He was warm and tasted like whiskey, was this real?