Page 33 of Slay Ride

I reach forward and give the handle a tug. It holds fast. “The door won’t open from my side, either.”

“No shit? You figured that out all on your own? Well, gosh, I guess the scarecrow has a brain after all!”

After a few more bumps and bangs, something clicks from her side of the door, and then it opens. Cat stumbles into the snow. Her eyes look straight ahead, and she walks with a faux arrogance to her posture.

“Locked yourself in, huh?” I say.

She squints into the headlamp light and tries to screech her rage, but a pitiful and hoarse wheeze putters out of her throat. “You know what? You’re right. I did. I guess that makesmethe scarecrow.”

“Aw, then who will I be?”

“You’re the fucking tin man, remember? No feelings.” She stomps toward the cabin, not needing my light to guide her. There’s a slight tilt to her walk, but it has more to do with drinking hard liquor on an empty stomach than lack of light.

I follow her into the cabin, and we strip down to our underwear again. It doesn’t even strike me as odd until I grabthe cold beans—that are now colder beans—and set them on the coffee table beside the bottle of whiskey.

“Why are we both in our underwear?” I sit beside Cat and hand her a spoon.

“I’m not sure. For me, it’s habit. You want some of this?” She takes another swig from the bottle, then holds it toward me.

“Why not?” I grab the bottle from her and take a long pull. I’ll regret this tomorrow, but that’s a problem for later. Then the whiskey nearly goes down the wrong pipe when my brain registers what she just said. “Wait, habit? You habitually walk around in your underwear?”

She laughs and takes the bottle from me. “What? No!”

“Okay, because I was about to say?—”

“I habitually walk around naked.”

“That’s...Naked? Really? I knew Rosie and Grim were part of the Bare It All club, but you too?”

After she swallows another mouthful of whiskey—and these swallows are getting bigger by the minute—she nods her head. “Yeah. I have an aversion to certain textures on my skin. It gives me the serious ick. When I’m home, I just stay naked as much as possible.”

“Do you lock yourself inside the bathroom at home, or is that only for vacations?”

“Do you fuck food at home, or is that?—”

I dip my hand into the pot of baked beans, curl my fingers around a fat clump, and ram it into her mouth before she can finish her sentence. Huge mistake.

Her mouth is so fucking warm, and as her soft tongue pushes against my fingertips to get me out of this sacred space, I nearly come in my pants. When I don’t move my fingers, the push becomes more exploratory.

I’m about three seconds into a rapid-release boner when her teeth clamp down.

“Ah, fuck!” I yell. “Okay, let go, let go!”

She releases her death grip and commences to chewing the mouthful of cold beans like she didn’t just try to take off my fingers at the first knuckle. This bitch is savage.

Closing her eyes, she lets out a moan. “Mmm, cold baked beans and filthy fingers. What a combo.”

Fuck her. I grab the bottle and gulp down more whiskey as she pulls the pot onto her lap and digs in. This is going to be a long fucking night.

I lean back and watch the fire as Cat plays the part of a starving animal that’s just been given a meal. The alcohol must really be doing its thing now. I’ve never seen someone so satisfied by a pot of cold beans. But with the way she’s chowing down, there won’t be any left for me.

That’s okay. I can just make something else.

After gathering the courage to venture back into the freezing pantry, I shuffle into the tiny room and use a headlamp to light the labels. A few jars of honey snag my attention. That would probably be good for Cat’s voice.

My hand moves toward the jar, but as I pull it closer, I realize I’m doing it again. I came in here to find somethingIcould eat, yet I was about to walk out of here with something to helpher. Am I sick? Am I dying?

I keep my grip on the honey and look for something to pair it with. The stovetop is big enough to warm up more than one thing at a time. Canned chicken might be okay. It’s already cooked, so I don’t have to worry about foodborne illness. My bigger problem will be heating the honey enough to break down the crystals that have formed in these freezing temps.

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