Page 59 of The Write Track
“I knew it,” he exclaimed in triumph. “You said you were afraid of dolls. I knew that meant Chucky too.”
“I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t like them.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk. A conversation about Chucky will lead to talk of Annabelle, so prepare yourself.”
I did not want to have that conversation. Apparently, he wasn’t taking requests, however.
“We should get ready,” he said.
He was still right next to me, still so warm, soft, and somehow hard at the same time. I didn’t want to leave this bed, but it had to happen.
“I’m starving,” he continued, “and we need to figure out what we’re going to do with our day.”
“No readers yet.” Something I was thankful for. “What do you think our options are going to be?”
“We’ll figure it out over breakfast. You don’t think your jerk of an ex is going to serve grits or something, do you?”
“You don’t like grits?”
“No. I like things that have actual taste.”
I smirked. I wasn’t a big fan of grits either. “If breakfast isn’t up to snuff, we can go to town. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to get away from Preston anyway.”
“Oh, we’re not running from him. We’re not giving him that power.”
“No? We need to work on your survival instincts. If the zombie apocalypse comes, I would hate for you to be one of the first to go.”
“Never going to happen, Bellarino. I’ll be the Daryl Dixon of our apocalypse group. Just wait and see.”
I had my doubts, but now that he’d mentioned breakfast, I was starving too. As if to prove it, my stomach let loose a ruthless growl. “We should definitely eat.”
After that, I had no idea what would happen. I was keen to find out, though.
BREAKFAST WAS ANOTHER CATEREDAFFAIR. WHENit came to food, Preston couldn’t do anything that didn’t come across as ostentatious. It was something he’d learned from his mother, although his father helped reel in his baser urges with constant reminders that food poisoning could lose him millions.
This morning, Preston had brought in hash browns, toast, three types of breakfast meats, and a team to cook personalized omelets.
“You know, your ex is a terrible human being, but the food he brings in is top-notch,” Bree commented as she studied the offerings.
I sighed. “Yeah. The food was always good. Not that I got to eat a lot of it. His mother had a rule. Whatever you thought you could eat, you cut it in half, then cut that in half, and that’s what was acceptable to eat in front of people.”
Bree shot me a sharp look. “They starved you?”
“I’m fairly certain that’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
“But—”
She didn’t wait for me to make excuses for Mary Charles. Instead, she turned to Hayley. “Did you hear that? Preston’s mother would only allow Bella to eat a quarter of what she wanted to eat.”
“Ugh.” Hayley looked as annoyed as Bree. “That is such crap.”
That’s when I noticed Preston had joined the crowd. He’d been close enough to hear what I’d said about his mother, and if the curve of his lip was any indication, he wasn’t happy. Before he could say anything, however, Nathan swooped in. He’d been behind us in line, talking to Brody, but he obviously hadn’t missed anything that had been said.
“I want you to eat four times what you think you can eat,” he said to me, his wink working overtime.
“That seems pretty gluttonous,” I countered.
