I arrived two days ago and spent all my time getting my room ready, so hadn’t had a chance to look around town yet. Though I knew I’d eventually need to get food.
I couldn’t rely on Harlow all the time.
The clanging of pots and pans from downstairs finally dragged me out of bed. I stomped down the stairs, not bothering tolighten my footfalls, and found Harlow in the kitchen wiping down counters and putting away the aftermath of whatever she'd been baking last night.
“Morning!” she chirped.
I bared my teeth like a feral cat, hissed, and dragged myself toward the coffeemaker, where liquid salvation was already brewing.
Ahh, the bringer of life.
The black liquid splashed into my cup, and immediately, my body relaxed. Once the scalding drink hit my tongue, I groaned and slumped over.
Harlow slid the last bread pan into the cabinet with a clatter. "The way you hunch over in that gamer chair, then shuffle around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, your spine is going to get stuck like that. And those," she added, gesturing to my chest with a spatula, "aren't exactly lightweight accessories."
Harlow's tiny, yellow nightgown clung to her curves like a second skin. She only wore it because she genuinely liked it, not to impress anyone. But if her viewers ever caught a glimpse of that barely-there fabric on one of her livestreams, their wallets would pop open faster than a toaster oven on waffle day.
But she wouldn’t.
I walked toward her and held up her boobs. “And these don’t hurt your back?”
She stared down at them. “Ah, not right now. When I got them a few years ago, they said when I get older, it might be a problem. But that is old, wrinkly Harlow’s problem.”
I raised an eyebrow. Huh, didn’t know they were fake. Just thought she naturally produced that.
“Whatcha doing today? Are you going into town?”
I nodded. “Yeah, need any groceries?”
Harlow held out a plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits for me. I groaned when she poured sausage gravy all over them and headed to the table.
“Yeah, I need to stop eating your food.”
“Thought you said you can’t cook?”
I put a big forkful in my mouth. “Nope, can’t,” I mumbled. “But I gotta stop relying on you.”
Harlow rolled her eyes. “I like taking care of people. I don’t mind cooking.”
I glared at her. The woman never stopped feeding people… breakfast for us, pastries for her fans, volunteer shifts ladling out soup to the homeless. If there were a mouth to fill within a five-mile radius, Harlow's spatula would find it.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy ingredients, and if you cook, I won’t say no.”
Harlow beamed and went back to eating. “I could even make something and bring my fans into your gamer room, to show me serving you, almost like a collab.”
I nodded. Nope, don’t mind that at all. I had been living off frozen pizza or takeout for years. Not that I had a choice, because if I tried to cook…
I would die.
By either poisoning myself or setting the apartment on fire.
I could burn water.
Thatfireman looked at me like I was nuts when he stared at that pot.
But his nuts didn’t even fill the suit, so… whatever.
The town was relatively small, but it had everything we needed. Such as the high-speed internet, which was a must.
