I mix the potatoes with cut-up bell peppers and onions and fry them up on the stove while the steak sears.
I even find fresh sourdough bread… I’ve never seen McCarthy eat carbs, so I don’t know why the universe decided to waste such a perfect loaf of bread on him.
I slap cheese on the slices of bread, let them crisp up in the pan, then assemble the sandwiches with strips of juicy steak and a fried egg.
I toss Truman, who has a vantage point on top of the fridge, a bite of steak as I wrap up the sandwiches in foil then cut them in half.
The guards visibly sniff the air when I walk out with my tray of food.
“There’s some coffee here; looks like you boys have a long night ahead of you.” I’ve got my happy, chirpy PR face on.
One of them reaches for a sandwich.
“Nuh-uh! I will give this to you if you pretend you don’t see me.”
“Yeah, totally.” The guard swipes his card on the elevator interface. The button lights up. Then the guards all crowd around me.
“So good,” one of them groans after biting into the sandwich.
“Tristan fucked up, so we can’t even leave to get food,” one of them complains before he knocks back a cup of coffee.
“Where’d you learn how to cook like this?”
“These potatoes are dope.”
“Is there any ketchup?”
“On the tray.” I sidestep to the elevator.Finally.“Well, enjoy the food.”
The front door opens right as I step onto the elevator. A hand grabs the back of my PJs.
“Put me down!”
McCarthy tosses me easily over his shoulder. “Thanks for the tip.” He nods to the guards.
“You ratted me out! You ate my food and ratted me out!” I shriek at them.
“This is a great breakfast sandwich,” one of them says apologetically.
“The best.”
The door slams behind us, cutting him off.
McCarthy locks it then throws me onto the couch.
“What part of ‘you are not leaving’ did you not understand?” He pushes me back when I stand up, looming over me.
My mouth is dry. He grabs my hair, and I inadvertently lean forward.
“Like I’m actually going to suck your dick,” I say, more to myself, before my fingers can grasp for his fly.
“You’re not getting on your knees.” His teeth scrape my nipple. “Unless it’s with your legs spread so I can take you.” He’s tugging at my shorts, pulling them down, his teeth still on my nipple.
I can’t stop the moan, can’t stop my fingers tangling in his hair.
“I’m not having sex with you.” I pant, though the feeling his fingers pushing under my panties is about to convince me otherwise. “Go jerk off on FaceTime with Sable. I’m sick of your games.”
“My games?”
