Page 30 of Kings & Carnage

He opened the oven door and withdrew one of the plates Daisy had brought with all the other supplies. Three thick slices of French toast were stacked on its surface.

He set it down, opened the little fridge, and withdrew a bowl of the canned fruit cocktail.

"It's not fresh strawberries, but it'll have to do until we get some real groceries, which I hope will be soon, because I don't have much to work with here," he said, spooning some of the fruit onto my plate next to the French toast.

He set it down in front of one of the two empty chairs at the table and I slid onto it and bent my head to smell the French toast. It smelled delicious even though I knew Rock was working with a limited assortment of supplies.

"It smells good," I said. "Is there coffee?”

"Is there coffee?" Rock scoffed. He walked to the old drip coffee maker and poured me a cup, then set it down in front of me.

I picked it up and inhaled the scent. "Thank god. And thank you.”

"I aim to please," he said with a grin, returning to the table.

I took a careful drink of the coffee, then another, closing my eyes with a sigh. It was probably just the placebo effect but I felt better already.

I looked at Neo and Oscar, their large frames making the diminutive kitchen table seem even smaller. "Good morning.”

Oscar flashed me a knowing smile. “Indeed."

I rolled my eyes and doused the French toast with syrup. It wasn't the all-natural organic kind Rock preferred but it would definitely do. "Don't be smarmy just because Neo's dick was in my mouth while you fucked me last night.”

"She's right," Neo said. "If anybody should be smarmy, it should be me.”

"You're always smarmy," I said before taking a giant bite of French toast.

"One of my many charms," Neo said.

And fuck me if I wasn’t starting to agree.

He looked hot in spite of the fact that he was still wearing the Bermuda shorts from the truck stop, probably because his chest was bare, every stupid perfect muscle on display.

The French toast hit my tongue in a flavorful burst of buttery dough, cinnamon, and maple syrup. "This is delicious," I told Rock.

"Store-bought bread and fake syrup,” he said sadly.

“Tastes good to me,” I said.

"That's because you're a brown noser,” Neo said from across the table.

"Being nice doesn't mean you're a brown noser,” I said.

"I hate to break up this important debate about what constitutes a brown noser,” Oscar said, "but we have more important things to talk about.”

He looked at least as delicious as the French toast, his defined chest and corded abs bare over his black sweats.

What was it with guys walking around with their shirts off? And how could we make them do it more often?

"I agree," Rock said. "Like when will I have something to wear that doesn't chafe my balls?”

"If I'd known how much I was going to have to hear about your balls I never would've bought you a caftan," Oscar said.

“Karma's a bitch," Rock said, pouring himself another cup of coffee and sitting down at the table.

"Apparently," Oscar said. "And as sick as I am of listening to you bitch about your balls, it does bring up an important point. We're going to need more supplies. At least one computer, more clothes, cash and credit cards, among other things.”

"Guns," Neo said firmly.

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