Page 166 of Double or Nothing

He squeezes my hand too tightly, as though he needs me to anchor him. Only I don’t know how.

I don’t know why.

I do know I need to ask. But I don’t do it. Not yet. Not now. Not with Camilla’s crazy email burning in my head and Jack’s laughter live and loud in the air between us. There’s too much happiness to dig into the pits and take a dump on it.

The paintings.

The auction.

Jack’s shining triumph at instigating two fistings and a double fuck in the pussy.

“Toastie time!” the grand inciter says. “Let’s get ourselves together before the serious action gets underway.” He winks at Bryce. “I want to try your cheeses. All of them.”

That perks Bryce up.

“I’d certainly hope so. Though you’ve tasted almost all of them already.”

“Nah.” Jack licks his lips. “There are a load more flavours in that refrigerator of yours, BT. A lot of them you don’t even know the names of.”

We get ourselves together and reconvene for the grand kitchen unveiling, sitting around Jack’s marble island looking like the aftermath of a naked wrestling match. I’m wearing one of Jack’s shirts, Bryce has managed to brace his battered ass enough to get back into his trousers, and Jack is in a dressing gown, crouched in front of the Toastique Pro as though he’s presenting a technological miracle to the Royal Society of Toastie Makers.

The first toastie emerges when the light turns green.

Jack lifts the lid and stares.

“Look at that!”

I lean over his shoulder, laughing out loud. “It’s a sandwich.”

“Stop it, you cheeky bitch. It’s a perfectly calibrated sandwich.”

“It has cheese in it.”

“Three cheeses,” Bryce reminds me.

Jack points at him. A mock gun with a pow.

“At least someone respects the process.” He slides the toastie onto a chopping board and examines the crust. “Perfect compression. No leakage. Even colour.”

“You sound like Camilla assessing my canvases,” I say.

“That’s because art is everywhere, Soul Girl.”

I laugh. “You mocked my art the first time you saw it.”

“No. I didn’t. I bought your art the first time I saw it. Vast difference.”

“Whatever, Jack.”

He’s so focused on the toastie, it’s hilarious.

“Fine,” he says. “Call it character development. I now have a much finer appreciation for both art and kitchen appliances.”

Jack cuts the toastie into three pieces with the concentration of a surgeon. He hands us one each.

I bite into mine, then close my eyes.

“Fair play, that is good,” I say after a chomp.