Delivery

The knock on your door comes right at 7:34 PM. You know because you've been watching the delivery tracker obsessively for the last fifteen minutes, stomach growling.

You open the door and—fuck.

This delivery girl is gorgeous.

Fucking stupidly gorgeous. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, fitted black polo, sharp features and full lips. That perfect mix between hot and cute that leaves your brain feeling a little fuzzy. She's holding your pizza box in one hand, phone in the other, looking completely professional.

"Large pepperoni?" Her voice is matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, that's me." You take the box. It's warm against your hands.

She's already swiping on her phone, pulling up the payment screen. "Comes to $24.20 with delivery."

You set the pizza on the entryway table. Pat your pockets. Empty. Shit. Your wallet is—where the fuck is your wallet? Probably in your bedroom. Or maybe the couch. Definitely not on you.

"Uh." You pat your pockets again like that'll make it materialize. "So funny story—"

She looks up from her phone. Waiting.

Your brain chooses this moment to be absolutely stupid. Maybe it's because you've been watching too much porn lately. Maybe it's because she's hot and you're flustered. Maybe you're just an idiot.

Probably that last one.

"I don't actually have my card on me right now," you say, and then your mouth keeps going without permission. "Is there maybe another way I could pay?"

It's a joke. Obviously a joke. You're going to laugh it off and go grab your wallet in like two seconds.

She doesn't laugh.

Just looks at you. Straight-faced. Expression completely neutral.

"Another way," she repeats slowly.

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Abort.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding—" You're already backing up, hands raised. "Bad joke, I'll go get my wallet right now, it's in my—"

"What did you mean?" She tilts her head slightly. Still no expression. "Another way to pay?"

Your face is hot. "It's stupid, it's this dumb trope from like, porn and stuff online, you know—" Why are you still talking? Stop talking. "The whole pizza delivery thing where the guy doesn't have money so they—and it's obviously not real, I didn't mean to—"

"So you were suggesting sex instead of cash." She says it like she's confirming your pizza order. Completely casual.

You want to die. "I wasn't—I mean, yeah, that's the trope, but I wasn't actually—"

"Okay."

Your brain short-circuits. "What?"

"Okay." She pockets her phone. Takes a step forward into your apartment. "Let's do that instead."

She's fucking with you. She has to be fucking with you.

"You're joking."

"Am I?" She takes another step. You take one back automatically. She's smirking now, just a little, and it completely transforms her face from professional to something that makes your pulse kick up. "You made the offer."

"I didn't—that wasn't an actual offer, I was joking—"

"Were you?" Another step. You're backing further into your apartment now and she's following, closing the door behind her with her heel. "Because you're still standing here. Haven't gone to get your wallet."

Fuck, she's right.

"I—"

"Here's what I think." She's close now. Close enough that you can smell her perfume, something light and sweet. "I think you made that joke because some part of you hoped I'd say yes. And now that I am saying yes, you don't know what to do with yourself."

Your back hits the wall. When did you run out of room?

"I don't—this doesn't actually happen in real life—"

"Doesn't it?" She's right in front of you now, looking up at you with dark eyes and that little smirk still playing at her lips. "Seems like it's happening right now."

Your heart is pounding so hard she can probably see it. "You're serious."

"Dead serious." Her hand comes up, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. "Unless you actually want to go get your wallet? We can do this the boring way if you prefer."

This is insane. She's insane. This doesn't happen.

"What's your name?" you manage.

"Jiyeon." Her fingers slide down from your collar to your chest. "And you're going to want to remember that, because you'll be saying it a lot in the next hour."

Fuck it. Fuck it.

"Bedroom's down the hall," you hear yourself say.

Her smirk widens into a full grin. "Good choice."

She pulls you down the hall and you're stumbling after her like an idiot, brain still trying to catch up to what's happening. This is real. This is actually happening.

Jiyeon pushes you into your bedroom and you barely register the mess—clothes on the floor, unmade bed—before she's on you. Hands sliding under your shirt, pushing it up.

"Off," she says simply, and you obey without thinking.

Shirt hits the floor. She's looking at you now, eyes dragging down your chest, your stomach, lower. That fucking smirk is still there.

She's actually checking you out.