“Ooof, that will leave a mark,” I say. Rubbing my arm, I ask, “I’m going to assume what’s yours is mine in this scenario?”

“What?” he asks, his brow furrowed. The patience in this one is wearing thin. Bet he didn’t expect to bring home a hot date . . . and a squatter, but here we are.

“Am I free to roam about the cabin? You know, eat and drink what’s available? I mean, my friend will be offering you one hell of an orgasm tonight—she’s already done mouth stretches.”

Nichole smiles brightly. “I did.”

“So am I free to make myself at home?”

“Oh, yeah . . . sure,” he answers and then looks at Nichole. “You did mouth stretches?”

“Always come prepared is my motto.”

I stand from the couch and walk over to them. I place my hand on Banner’s arm and say, “She’s very bendy. Have fun.” I give his arm a squeeze and then offer Nichole a thumbs-up. “Muscles are popping.”

“Oh, yay.” She takes his hand and pulls him up the stairs as I head to the kitchen.

Surprisingly more open than I expected, the kitchen is shrouded by dark oak cabinets, tan speckled countertops, and one window that looks out into what I’m going to assume is a backyard. Can’t quite tell since it’s past eleven at night. Not a single dish in the sink, the counters are shockingly clean, which means either they don’t cook or they can actually clean up after themselves, and there are only two appliances in the kitchen. A coffee pot—nothing fancy, something you can buy at Target for twenty dollars on sale or snag for fifteen on Black Friday—and the most enormous toaster oven I’ve ever seen.

I walk up to it and pull down the hatch. “What does this hold? A whole loaf of bread at the same time? My God, where do you buy something like this?” I then try the fridge. “Would you look at that? Fruit and veggies.” I bend down and push around Tupperware with precut vegetables. “This is real Tupperware. That’s impressive. Ooo, a Capri Sun.” I snag a fruit punch and then shut the fridge door. “Food, where is the food?”

I open a few empty cabinets, which makes me think they really don’t cook here since there’s nothing to cook with, and then I stumble across some food.

“What do we have here?” I push past boxes of oatmeal, protein bars—hmm, maple donut, wasn’t sure anyone liked that flavor—and tubs of protein powder. “Typical,” I mutter. Normally, I’m a healthy-ish person who can appreciate a solid tub of whey protein, but not after a sweaty night of drinking and dancing in a bar. I need some snacking food.

I move to another cabinet, and then another, and another but come up short. Hoping I can find something in the freezer, I whip that open as well, wishing for an ice cream bar of some sort but only find rotten bananas and ice packs.