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Summary
There's a clear plastic container on the kitchen table. Eddie sets the bag down warily on the counter, approaches it warily, as if it's a live grenade. Which is prescient, he realizes a moment later.
It is, as the message suggested, a cake. A small one, sized so that a person could eat it in a single sitting if they were feeling greedy and indulgent. Chocolate layers, topped with a silky-looking ganache; Buck even sprinkled little curls of white chocolate around the edges for decoration. Lettering piped in bright red frosting, uneven but perfectly legible, reads, DON'T IGNORE ME, I SUCKED YOUR DICK.