Bryce chuckled softly. “You sounded as if you’d actually miss me if I did.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just basic concern, you know?”
Bryce smirked knowingly, fully aware of the slight tremor in my voice that betrayed any attempt at nonchalance.
“I’m just stepping outside,” he clarified. “We need some wood for the fire and some extra supplies just in case it gets real bad later.” Bryce jerked his chin toward the living room. “I’m takingol’ boy with me too. This should be a breeze… considering that he’s acarpenter.” Bryce paused, an amused expression creeping onto his face. “But I’m still not convinced about his skills, so the jury is still out on that for me.”
I snorted in response. “Let’s hope he’s not a fraud like your little friend ‘Chef Boyar-NO!’”
Bryce burst out laughing. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. But maybe Isis needs to come in here so you can teach her a thing or two.”
I waved him off. “Maybetomorrow she can redeem herself. I think the stove is still crying out for help in three different languages.”
Bryce chuckled on his way out. “You wrong.”
“No, I’mcorrect.She’s out of cooking commission until further notice.”
“Say less,Chef Hollis. I mean, this isyourkitchen.”
He left out grinning… and that’s where he messed up.
It wasn’t even the words; it was that slow, confident, shoulder-rolling, muscle-shiftingwalkthat onlycertainmen possess; the kind that whispersstroke game dangerous and handle with care.
That was Bryce.
Bryce didn’t just walk with good dick energy; he moved like hetrainedit, like it had passed state exams, had a five-star rating on Yelp, and been approved by a higher authority.
I bit my lip in a salacious manner.
We ain’t even made it to the blizzard, and my coochie has already declared a state of emergency. Lord, send salt for the roads and a mop for my thighs.
I shook off the moment and looked away before I got caught mentally bent over. I refocused my thoughts on the bubbling pot of Chili on the stove. The rich aroma filled the air, blending with the distant howling of the wind.
Adrian has already embarrassed himself once. If he wants redemption, he better go out there and chop that wood like his next meal depends on it, and with a possible storm closing in, it just might be. He better not roll back in here with not no“mahogany veneer panel” wood either. I’m talkin’, real wood… survival wood… warm-a-cabin-so-we-don’t-freezetype of wood. Because if Bryce returns all sweaty and looking good, hefting a whole tree over his shoulder while the “carpenter” strolls in looking winded with one twig talkin’ bout, “The wood was too wet. This all I could get.” I’m collecting his masculinity like a suspended driver’s license, and telling him, “You’ve been caught operating tools with no experience. Your man privileges are officially revoked pending further examination.”
Chapter twelve
Bryce
“The Axe Handle Never Lies… But Adrian Sure Did”
Istepped into the living room and instantly felt my blood pressure spike.
Adrian was laid out like a glorified house cat, with his shirt off, shoes halfway on, and scrolling his phone like he had nowhere to be and nothing to contribute. He looked like one of them sorry niggas who lounged around all day while his girl was out grinding to cover the rent, pay his phone bill, fund his weed habit, his fantasy sports addiction, and probably his DoorDash cravings too. He laughed at something on his screen. It was probably one of those fake crypto reels selling false hope talkin’ ‘bout,“You’re not broke; you just haven’t aligned with your higher self.”
Isis was nowhere to be seen, which meant she had to be somewhere either going LIVE, shit… swinging her wig in slow motion while fake crying about how shetried—and failed—tocook, but everyone hating on her, or maybe even filming her second “Get Ready With Me Even Though I Ain’t Got Nowhere To Go” of the day. Hell,it wouldn’t have surprised me if she was in the bathroom playing with herself since I didn’t give her no dick the night before.
I stood on that shit.
And because of that, she probably even started an OnlyFans saying some crazy shit like,“Day one of my celibacy journey… unless you pay the tip fee of $300. Comes with one mandatory Zoom interview for a vibe check. And before you’re granted real access, you must first provide your last three years’ tax returns, three ex references, a note from your therapist as proof of emotional intelligence, and seven inches… minimum.”
And the crazy part? There’s a whole line of simps who’dgladlyupload all that by morning, submit a blood sample by noon, meet the inch requirement by five, and be on the waitlist by bedtime… talkin’ ‘bout, “I love a woman with standards.”
I cleared my throat like I was warming up for a diss track.
Adrian flinched, looking up like a teenager who’d just been caught red-handed watching Pornhub on the living room TV.
“Aye,” I said, pulling on my flannel and gloves, “We need to go get some wood.”
