Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Ozzy’s mouth twitches.
I glare at my own body. “Don’t.”
“It’s fine,” he says, voice low, amused. “Your stomach’s just… expressing itself.”
“I haven’t eaten since—” I stop, because time has become a blurry smear of fear and controlled breathing and pretending I wasn’t starving. “I don’t even know.”
His expression changes instantly. The humor drains, replaced by something sharp, protective, and quietly furious. “Okay,” he says. “We’re fixing that.”
My throat tightens at the easy certainty in his tone. Like feeding me is as simple as stopping for gas. Like my needs are allowed to exist without costing me something. I swallow. “Could we… pull over? Like… a drive-thru?”
Ozzy glances at the clock on the dash. It’s late. So late it’s early. “Yeah. Of course.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “If you say you’re fine and you don’t want to be a bother, I’m going to ignore you.”
I blink at him.
He keeps his eyes on the road, but his jaw shifts, like he’s already decided my hunger is non-negotiable.
I try for sarcasm because sarcasm is my safety blanket. “So you’re saying you’re not big on consent?”
His head turns just enough for me to catch the side of his grin. “I’m big on consent. I’m not big on you pretending you don’t deserve food.”
My chest gives this tiny, stupid ache. I look out the window before I do something embarrassing like get emotional over fries.
We take an exit and drift down a smaller road lined with closed shops and dark windows. Everything is asleep. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like the whole world is holding its breath. Then I see it. A glow ahead—pink neon, flickering slightly, like a heartbeat.
Ozzy turns into the lot.
The sign above the building reads:
MOONLIGHT MUNCHIES
And beneath it, in bright cursive: WE ALWAYS SATISFY YOUR CRAVINGS
I stare. I stare some more. Then I turn slowly to Ozzy. “What is this place?”
Ozzy pulls into the lot. He looks at the building like he’s also processing the absurdity. “It’s the only thing open.”
My gaze drops to the second sign in the window. BURGERS • BREAKFAST • ADULT TOYS
I blink. Then I blink again. “You brought me,” I say carefully, “to a place that sells pancakes and… handcuffs.”
Ozzy clears his throat like he’s trying to stay professional. He fails. “Technically, it sells sliders and… a variety of accessories.”
“A variety.”
He shrugs. “Multifunctional establishment.”
I press my lips together, trying so hard not to laugh that it becomes physically painful.
Ozzy’s eyes flick to mine. And then we both lose it. It starts as a quiet snort from him and a sharp little laugh from me, and then suddenly I’m laughing for real—full-bodied, shocked laughter that feels like my ribs are relearning how to expand.
Ozzy leans back in the driver’s seat, chuckling, his head tipping against the headrest. For a second, the world doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels like a ridiculous story I’ll tell someone later, when this is all over.
When I’m real again. When I’m free.
Ozzy steers the SUV toward the drive-thru. “Come on. Drive-thru.”
“Please tell me the drive-thru speaker is shaped like a—” I stop.
Ozzy points at me. “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say it.”
His eyebrows lift. “You were.”
I smile, and it surprises me how natural it feels.
We roll forward into the drive-thru lane. The menu is lit up like a Vegas marquee. Everything is themed.
The Quickie
The Aftercare Platter
Full Moon Special
The 69
The Walk of Shame Breakfast
I cover my mouth with my sleeve. “This is unhinged.”
Ozzy taps the steering wheel. “We’re in Saint Pierce-adjacent. Unhinged is the local currency.”
The speaker crackles. A soft voice drifts out. “Welcome to Moonlight Munchies. You lookin’ to satisfy hunger, loneliness, or both?”
I choke.
Ozzy pauses, deadpan. “Hunger.”
The voice sighs. “Sure. What can I get you?”
Ozzy glances at me, silently offering me the choice. My throat tightens again at that small respect—like I have agency, like I’m not just being dragged from place to place.
I clear my throat and lean toward the window. “I want the Aftercare Platter.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then the voice says, “Solid choice.”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“And can I add chocolate chips to the pancakes?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” the voice replies, like chocolate chips are sacred.
Ozzy leans in. “And I’ll take The Quickie. Three mini-sliders, fries, coke.”
The voice hums approval. “Quickie’s popular tonight.”
Ozzy doesn’t miss a beat. “I bet it is.”
I burst out laughing again, quick and startled. Under different circumstances I’d spend all day here, laughing and loving this place. It’s right up my alley.
Ozzy glances at me, eyes bright. “What?”
“You walked right into it,” I say.
“I did not,” he protests, but his grin says he knows exactly what he did.
“Would you like to super size?” the attendant asks.
“Super size what exactly?” I ask, more to Ozzy than the attendant.
But she answers anyway, “The complimentary dildo. Each order comes with a standard five-to-seven inch dildo, your choice of skin tone. You can upgrade to a six-to-eight inch with a suction cup base. And if you say, “Yes, please,” we’ll make it extra thick for you.