Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Sounds delicious,” I say as his gaze turns misty in the memory. “Which would you choose?”
“You good at baking?” Rock asks, hopefully.
“My nana taught me a lot,” I say. “I make bread and biscuits and cookies and brownies.”
“You do?” Hyde seems overwhelmed by the thought of home-baked goods like this fantasy is invading a part of him he suppressed thinking about a long time ago. “I wanted a Spiderman cake,” His voice trails off wistfully, and a knot twists in my throat.
“Me, too,” Kinkaid admits.
“Spiderman's okay,” Rock mutters. “But Batman kicks ass.”
“So, two Spiderman cakes and one Batman cake.” I grin that these three hardened criminals are about to argue over which superhero is best. “What about your birthday meals?” I twist to find Kinkaid staring at the ceiling. I touch his fingers, and he turns, setting me alight with his eyes caught between sapphire and glinting steel in the darkness.
“Steak and fries with buttered corn and broccoli,” he says.
“What is it about men and steaks?”
He smiles fleetingly. “It's the caveman trapped within.”
“My caveman isn't that trapped,” Hyde admits.
“Mine neither.”
I twist to look back at Rock, who's behind me. “So, what am I cooking you?”
“Ribs,” he says, licking his lips hungrily. “Ribs dripping with sticky BBQ sauce, with them skinny, crispy French fries and onion rings, and a big ol' salad.”
“Salad? That's what your caveman is calling for?”
“He's equal opportunities when it comes to vegetables.”
I laugh, as my initial fantasy is now colored with their ideas. Three meals, three cakes, three happy, relaxed faces. My mind twists out of reality and into a Stepford Wife fantasy so easily.
Stupid woman.
I barely cook for myself these days, let alone for anyone else. But I'd like to try, I guess. Maybe I'd be one of those women whose house is always filled with the scent of delicious food. People down the street would remember the dishes I made for potlucks.
My family never got invited to anything like that, but my nana could cook well. I could try to make her proud.
Somewhere in the prison, noise erupts again. It happens regularly, but even though I've been here for a while now, I still haven't found a way to tune it out. Every time it happens, I flinch, reminded of where I am. It sounds stupid, but this unit we're locked in has stopped closing in around me like a place of captivity. I've stopped thinking about the auction. I've stopped worrying about my safety. Most of the time, it’s like I'm hanging out with friends. Friends with a lot of benefits.
Kinkaid, Rock, and Hyde spoil me in such sweet ways that fill me with feathery feelings I can’t suppress. We haven't known each other for long, but intense, around-the-clock contact has pushed us into close connections that none of us can avoid.
“Stupid fuckers.” Hyde makes a tutting, disapproving noise. “Like wasting all that energy is going to get them anywhere.”
“It's never about getting anywhere,” Rock reminds him. “It's like a pressure valve. Every so often, they release some steam.”
“They're just going to end up getting more time added to their sentences,” Kinkaid says.
“Thank fuck, there's no risk of that while we're down here.” Hyde shifts onto his side, and I glance at his bare chest, which is all ripped and inked. I've never craved to lick a man before I got locked in here, but now, just the sight of his warm, smooth skin makes my mouth fill with saliva. He rubs his abs absentmindedly, and my fingers itch to trace the happy trail leading down but I restrain myself. If I touch him that way, it’ll be the end of this conversation.
“Unless we get caught,” Kinkaid reminds him.
Like confetti scattered after a wedding, all my naïve, wishful thoughts are swept away. I’ve never asked these men why they’re in prison or how long they’ll be here. At first, it seemed too personal, like prying could spark something I wasn’t ready to face. But now, the truth feels even more dangerous. What if they’ve done something violent? What if they’ve hurt someone? The thought terrifies me. It would change how I see them—turn this fragile sense of safety into fear. And I still have so many days left in their company, so I’ve chosen not to know.
It's foolish, but it’s the only way I’ve managed to keep the dread at bay for this long.
“What about you, Lory?” Hyde asks. “I mean, I'm no baker, but I could follow a recipe, I think.”
“I reckon you'd make a good baker,” I say after I get my mind back to the right part of our conversation. “You have the strong, cool hands that bakers need.”
Hyde’s surprised, raising his dark brows and pursing his full lips. Maybe nobody ever told him he'd be good at something. Some kids never hear the confidence-boosting words they need from their caregivers.