Quinn

After our ride, I was silently thrilled Ace brought us back to the house. Max was around, and I didn’t want to be a crappy friend who ditched her after she came all that way just to check on me.
When we walked in, Max and Ham were both there. I had no idea what to make of that, but with both the guys hanging around, I couldn’t ask. Instead, I was stuck agreeing to the invitation for us to order in pizza with them and chill.
“What on it?” Ham asked as Ace and I settled onto one of the couches.
“Pineapple,” Max responded.
Ham pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ with me, babe,” he demanded.
She wasn’t. I knew this. In all our years of friendship, we’d never actually shared a pizza. It always came down to ordering two so I didn’t have to choke down the gross concoction she called pizza toppings.
“Just wait,” I warned Ham.
“What the fuck could be worse than pineapple on pizza?” Ace asked.
I looked at Max. “Tell them,” I said with a flick of my wrist, indicating she proceed.
“I like pineapple, olives, green pepper, and some kind of meat, but I’ll take whatever,” she stated, unabashed.
Ham blinked, stared at her, then blinked again. It seemed to drag out for a solid minute. Then he found the response of, “That’s the most disgusting fucking pizza order I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s good!” Max insisted.
“Toots, in what universe do pineapple and marinara go together?”
Did he just call her toots? He totally did. And it wasn’t in a funny, fifties throwback way. He just called her that by rote.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. I also don’t get sauce on it,” Max enlightened him.
“You get sauceless, pineapple, olive, green pepper, and mystery meat pizza?” Ham verified.
“Yep.”
Ham looked at me with what seemed to be a bit of concern on his face. “Where the hell did you find her?”
I laughed. “We were roommates in college. Randomly put together freshman year.”
He looked between us, then smiled in a way I could only describe as salacious.
“Damn, I am getting a beautiful picture right now,” he said.
I didn’t inform him the actual picture wasn’t all that great. Mostly, we sat around in sweatpants studying or watching Netflix. Why all men thought women being alone together meant the clothes just disappeared, I did not know. If I had to guess, I would probably blame porn.
“Before you start picturing it, I was religious about making sure there was a sock on the door and a warning text, and Quinn heeded both every time,” Max informed him.
That was true. Max gave me as much warning as she could manage before bringing guys to our room, and I was fortunate enough to never accidentally miss any of those warnings and walk in on something I did not want to see.
“Not enough to kill the dream,” Ham muttered.
“Unless she’s held out on me, I’m pretty sure there was no lesbian experimentation either,” Ace added. I gasped and slapped his shoulder.
“Not in the room anyway,” Max muttered.
I gasped again. “Seriously? You never told me that!”
She shrugged. “It was one time at a party. A bunch of frat guys dared us to make out. Nothing special. She was a good kisser, though.”
Ham cursed in a way that made it clear her words offered a mix of pain and pleasure.
“It’s why I let her slide into second base before I shut it down,” Max went on.
“Okay!” I cut in. “How about we get back to the pizza?”
“Buzzkill,” Ham said under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” Max assured quietly, but not quietly enough, “I’ll tell you the whole story later if you’re good.”
“Baby, I can be as good as you fuckin’ want.”
Turning to Ace, I spoke soft enough the other wouldn’t hear. “I don’t think I want to eat meals with the two of them ever again.”
“Noted,” he replied, grinning at my discomfort.
Jerk.
“How insistent are you on the pineapple thing?” Ace asked then, getting Ham and Max’s attention back on us.
“Completely,” she and I both answered—her firm, me resigned.
“No way in fuck I’m eating pineapple on fuckin’ pizza with no sauce,” Ham stated. I was pretty sure that was seconded by me and Ace without asking. He went on. “Not eatin’ pineapple at all.”
“Why not?” Max asked. “It’s good for you. And guys really should.”
“Why?” I had the distinct sense I would regret the question as soon as the word left my mouth.
“Because it’s supposed to make their cum taste sweeter.”
Good Lord. I was right. I didn’t want to know.
“Can we please just order food?” I asked, my face on fire.
Max ended up with a pizza—if you could call her monstrosity that—of her own, while Ham, Ace, and I shared a classic pepperoni.
We’d all finished our meals, with only Max’s pizza having any leftovers, when Daz came striding in.
“Fuck yeah, pizza!” he exclaimed.
He flipped open the box for the extra large the guys had destroyed with only a little help from me, then moved to Max’s, looking at it for a second before asking, “What’s on this?”
We answered, and he stood there for a long moment before shrugging and taking a slice.
“You’re gonna eat that shit?” Ham asked.
“Still food. Besides, pineapple’s supposed to make your cum taste better,” he replied.
“See?” Max cried.
“We both need new friends,” I declared, and Ace laughed. “I’m only kind of joking,” I informed him.
“Think we’re stuck with the ones we’ve got,” he replied, just as Max shouted, “Bitch, you’re stuck with me!”
“So much for being able to pick your friends.”
Ace pulled me in close to his side, until I had no choice but to settle my head against his shoulder. As he did, I watched Max’s face get soft.
Maybe my best friend wasn’t so bad after all.