The campus pizza place existed in that perfect sweet spot between "actually edible" and "won't bankrupt a student." Tony's Slice had sticky floors, grease-stained tables, and the kind of atmosphere that screamed "we don't care what you look like as long as you pay." Perfect for two guys who'd just survived federal crime attempts and needed to decompress with carbs.
Jordan slumped across from me in our corner booth, looking like someone had run him through a blender set to "existential crisis." His usually perfect hair stuck up at weird angles, his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition. The guy had been stress-eating breadsticks for ten minutes straight.
"I'm done with women," he announced, waving a piece of pepperoni pizza for emphasis. "Completely. Finished. Over it."
I raised an eyebrow while taking a bite of my own slice. The cheese stretched in that satisfying way that meant Tony actually gave a damn about quality. "This because Belle almost got us expelled last night?"
