Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Allie shrugs. “They’ve sent us the raw ingredients, so I guess they’re expecting us to prepare food for ourselves.”
“Anyone here a chef?” Jonas looks around the group and when no one raises their hands, he shakes his head. “That seems like a rookie error on the part of the recruiter!”
“I’m sure everyone here has some experience in feeding themselves.” I’m not about to play chef all week, but I can hold my own.
“No wives or girlfriends to look after you guys.” Allie says. It’s not a question so I guess our relationship status must have been on our recruitment summaries.
“A real man can look after himself,” Russell says, and all the attention of the group is drawn to the strong, silent-type dude who made such a determined statement.
“Maybe Russell should cook the first meal?” Jimmy offers in a jovial tone.
“I’d be happy to do that.” Russell gives a nod, his expression unreadable behind his glasses and baseball cap.
“Thank you, Russell.” Allie touches her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “That’s great of you to volunteer.”
“One point to Russell,” Carson says, his fingers shaped into a gun, which he angles at Russell and pretends to fire.
“Are you seriously keeping some kind of score?” Clay asks his buddy.
“Yep.”
Allie shakes her head but doesn’t ask Carson to elaborate. Either she doesn’t care or she doesn’t want to get drawn into whatever game he’s playing.
Russell lifts himself out of the pool with zero effort, and dries himself enough to go back into the house and search the cupboards. His back is covered with a black inked bulldog who’s eyes seem to bore into mine. I decide to offer my assistance and follow. By the time I make it inside, Russell’s already on his way to gathering ingredients. “What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Barbecue,” he says. “There’s a grill out there.”
I wondered if he’d noticed. “I think that’s a great idea for day one.” I open a drawer and retrieve some barbecue equipment. “There’s something about cooking outside that gets everybody mingling.”
“I just enjoy grilled meat,” he adds dryly.
“Can I help at all?”
Russell has removed his glasses and his green eyes narrow just a little at my suggestion. “I don’t know,” he says, picking up a cucumber and waving it like a weapon. “Will Carson deduct my point if you do?”
We both laugh dryly. “Probably, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Says the only other man with a point.” Russell raises his chin knowingly and we chuckle again.
“I’ll tell you what. You deal with the meat, and I’ll make a couple of big salads.”
“Sounds good.”
We work side by side while Russell creates some intricate marinades that smell delicious, and I dice vegetables like a pro. Not for the first time, I’m thankful for the lessons my mom gave me before she passed away.
After a while, Allie joins us to find out what’s cooking and her eyes linger on both of us, sizing up more than just the food.
She’s a journalist, I remind myself. An observer and commentator on the world. Yes, she’ll be asking us questions, but she’ll be watching us the whole time, building a picture of the way we interact and the kind of people we are.
She’s looking for, what do they call it, big dick energy. Confidence without cockiness. Or just maybe assessing for arrogance.
My attention is drawn to a line of water which slides down the side of her neck, across her clavicle and down between her breasts. This week is going to be interesting for many reasons, but the one at the forefront of my mind is how clear Allie will be able to see the truth in all of us, and whether any of the group will push for the chance to show her what a big dick can do.
ALLIE
We eat outside in the shelter of a large wooden pergola. It’s covered with bright bougainvillea that’s a riot of color in the stark modern surroundings. Russell’s platters of succulent barbecued meat really hit the spot, and Oliver created two salads that even the most committed carnivores in the group can’t stop groaning about.
I find it interesting that they left me a space at the head of the table. Interesting and unexpected. From a body language point of view, the most dominant in the group is expected to sit at the head, and the fact that none of them took that spot is fascinating. Maybe it’s because I’m running the focus of the week, or maybe they didn’t want to step on the toes of the other men.
For the first time since Kirsty told me about this assignment, I’m finding something interesting in the process of discovery.
Just as I take my final mouthful, conscious that holding my belly tight is now going to be impossible, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” Tom offers, not waiting for me or anyone else to contradict him.