Page 89 of Slay Ride

“Then don’t do it.”

She looks at me and places the beans back on the shelf.

“Don’t break up with him,” I add. “Now that he’s looped in, we could use this to our advantage.”

“I don’t follow.”

I look around for a way to demonstrate my point—particularly, the point that will allow me to stay in her room tonight. I pluck a cantaloupe, an orange, and an apple from the shelves, then grab two empty pans.

“Are you going to fuck that and make me watch?” she asks. “Do you need me to provide accompaniment? I know a few sixties tunes.”

“Ha. Ha.”

I motion for her to turn around, and she rolls her eyes and obeys. I love her obedience, but it’s the sass for me, honestly.

While her back is to me, I place the cantaloupe and apple in one pan, and the orange in another. After placing the lids on thepans, I tell her to face me once more. She does, and I shake the pans. The fruit rattles around inside.

“Now, tell me which pan has the orange in it,” I say.

She points to the pan on the left, and I lift the lid to reveal . . . the orange. Fuck.

“Okay, that was a lucky guess, but you get my point.” I replace the fruit and the pans. “If everyone thinks you’re in your room banging Maverick, and if Maverick is in my room, how will they know?”

“I think I just demonstrated that.”

“We’ll be in a room, not a pan with a lid.”

“And we’ll be humans, not fruit.” She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. “It won’t work, Bennett.”

“Can’t you try?” I take her hand, and she finally meets my gaze. “Please?”

She’s right on the verge of agreeing with me. She just needs a little push.

I lean down and place my lips on hers. So warm, so soft. Slipping my hand to the back of her neck, I deepen the kiss. Her muscles relax in my hold, and she sighs as our lips part.

“No, Bennett,” she whispers with a smirk, and hey, at least she’s smiling now. “Help me find something to eat. I’m genuinely hungry.”

With a groan, I acquiesce and begin helping her pick through the jars and packages until we land on something she’s interested in: a bag of fucking grapes.

“Wait, why were you in here?” she asks as she pops a green grape into her mouth. She bites down, and her mouth purses. “Fuck, these are sour.”

I glance at the pan holding the turkey I planned to have my way with. “Uh, same thing. I was . . . hungry.”

“Let’s make some sandwiches, then. We could both use some food, and at least we’re safe in here.” She grabs what we’llneed from in here—mayo, mustard, cheese, ham, lettuce, and a tomato—and I follow her into the kitchen.

She tightens her ponytail and sets to work, slathering condiments and veggies on toasted slices of thick bread before layering ham and cheese on top. When she’s finished, she puts the sandwiches on a plate and pushes one in front of me.

“Don’t you want to sit at the table and eat?” I ask.

She lowers her sandwich. “I mean . . . what if?—”

“Right.”

I take a bite and chew, and while I’m grateful for the food, which is delicious, I’m also very uncomfortable. It’s so quiet in here that I can hear my teeth shredding every particle of food. Breath saws in and out of me like a gale force wind. My stomach gurgles as it accepts its prize, and Cat lowers her sandwich with a giggle.

“Why are we making this weird?” she says.

“Because it is weird.” I lean across the prep table and swipe a bit of mayo from her lip. “That’s why people hate it so much. We’re heralding the end times.”

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