“Not bad,” he nodded between huge bites.
“Don't gush, you'll embarrass me,” Missy replied.
Cain chuckled once, then plunged a muffin into his chili and wolfed it down in a single bite. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal, but as he searched his memory, he realized it was probably the night of his VP ceremony.
I'll bet she cooked that food too, he thought. In which case, she's actually pretty fucking talented.
“Where did you learn how to do this?” Cain asked, spooning more chili into his mouth.
“My mother,” Missy answered.
“She must have been great in the kitchen.”
“Well, it's not like she could have taught me how to make steamed mussels or salmon tartare,” Missy smirked, “but she knew how to make the things bikers like to eat, so I've got that down, basically. Burgers, ribs, maybe even a corned beef brisket if I'm feeling fancy.”
“You cook like this for Hunter?” Cain asked.
“Wow, you're certainly asking me a lot of questions for a change,” Missy observed. “Does this mean you're actually going to start treating me like a person, instead of just grunting and yelling at me?”
“Fuck it, forget I asked, then,” snapped Cain, pushing his bowl away.
“Oh, don't be like that,” Missy teased, shoving the bowl back in front of him. “I was just kidding, I didn't mean to set you off again. Besides, you may as well finish the half-spoonful you've got left in there anyway. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who 'leaves a little for Mister Manners.'”
Cain sighed and picked up his spoon, finishing off the chili.
“Thank you,” said Missy. “If you really want to know, I mostly cook like this for myself. I do breakfasts for Hunter, but by dinner time, there's no way of knowing when he'll be home. So I make what I want, and save the leftovers for him to pick at whenever he gets back.”
“He's a lucky guy, to eat this well so often,” he murmured.
“Thank you for that lovely and unexpected compliment,” Missy said. She picked up Cain's bowl and brought it over to the pot, ladling more chili into it. “I know if I ask whether you want more, you'll say no whether you want more or not, so I'm just going to get you more anyway, okay? If you want it, eat it. If you don't, leave it. Deal?”
Cain nodded and Missy put the bowl down in front of him.
He considered it for a moment, then starting eating again.
Chapter 22
Cain
Once dinner was over and the dishes were soaking in the sink, Missy showed Cain the deck of cards she'd gotten at the Shop-N-Stop. “Got any favorite games?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, “but we don't have anything to bet with.”
Missy laughed. “You don't have much imagination, do you? Jeez, when you were a kid, you must have been a terrible friend to have on a rainy day.”
“When I was a kid, I was in juvie,” Cain said, “so rainy days were pretty much the same as sunny ones to us, what with not being allowed outside and all.”
“Juvie, huh? So if convicts play cards for cigarettes in prison, does that mean that the kids in juvie play for candy cigarettes instead?”
“Hilarious,” Cain replied. “I take it you never spent any time inside?”
“Nope, I left that to dad and Hunter,” said Missy, grabbing a pen and some scratch paper. “They never made it look like much fun. Now do you want to play or not, sourpuss? We can each start with an imaginary thousand bucks and keep track of the bets by writing them down. First one to run out of make-believe money loses.”
Cain sighed. “I guess it beats staring at the wall, so sure.”
“That's the spirit!” Missy exclaimed, shuffling the cards. “So what'll it be? Blackjack? Five-Card Draw? Just don't say Texas Hold-'Em, 'cause I forget how to play and I'm too lazy to learn again.”
“Blackjack's fine,” he said.
They played for almost two hours, until Cain's imaginary account ran down to zero.
“Guess that's the game, then,” Missy said, “unless you want to start betting items of clothing.” She wagged her eyebrows at him suggestively.
“You wish,” Cain smirked. As he said it, he found that the image appeared in his mind even though he hadn't tried to conjure it—Missy getting up from the table and removing her panties, the last item of clothing before she stood completely naked before him under the milky yellow lights of the kitchen. What might her exposed breasts look like? Would her pussy be shaved, or...?
He shook his head to clear the thought away, tossing the pen aside. He didn't know where that unwelcome fantasy had come from. Damn it, he barely even tolerated her, and now he was thinking about her like that? He decided to blame the pills for turning his brain into mush.