Page 47 of Demon Hunter

“No, no, you’ve gone above and beyond,” he assures them. “Great service. Ten out of ten, five stars. So sorry for all the fussing.”

The guys take their tip, then the taller one looks past Matt to where Ian is lecturing Marc before lowering his voice and saying, “It’s really no trouble. We’ve had way fussier clients than this.”

Matt stares at him, unblinking, then adds a twenty to the tip. “I’m so sorry.”

I nearly choke trying to hold back my laugh as Matt ushers them out the door, then turns to face down Marc.

“Every time I start to think that maybe you could be half decent, you pull shit like this,” he gripes. “We can move the couch a fuckinginch.” He stalks over to the offending item of furniture and bumps his hip against the side.

It skids three feet.

We all stare at it.

“Whoa, th-that’s lighter than I expected,” Matt stutters. There’s a wildness to his eyes that worries me. Maybe this weekend has been too much for him. He might be completely healed, but the nightmares are proof that he’s got some PTSD from the attack. We should probably have taken it easier. Or maybe Marc missed something when he was healing him? Is smelling cheese the sign of a stroke?

No, that’s toast. And also not proven.

Ian goes to the other end of the couch and hip bumps it just like Matt did, but it only moves an inch. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You’re just ragey because your bestie-in-law is being nitpicky.”

“What the hell?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The indignant exclamations from Matt and Marc rise in chorus, and I snicker as they turn to glare at each other.

“Never call me that again,” Marc orders Ian with a little shudder.

“I hate to agree withhim, but I agree with him. Gross, Ian. Just gross.”

Ian shrugs. “I think it fits. What about you, Dyl?” There’s a wicked curve to his smile, and I grin.

“Definitely. And hey, that makes you and me besties-in-law too.” I cross the room to fist-bump him.

“I hate you both,” Matt declares. “Hate, loathe, and despise.”

“That’s his love language,” Ian tells me. “He’s got a marshmallow heart, so he hides it with harsh words.”

“Yeah.” I meet Matt’s gaze and smile just for him. I’ve seen how soft his heart is. “I know.” His expression warms and relaxes as he smiles back at me.

“Is anybody going to move the couch?” Marc asks. “Or will I finally be permitted to do it my way?”

Matt growls—actually growls—in a way that’s beyond sexy, and I decide it’s time for me to take control of this situation so we can have the place to ourselves again.

“Go for it,” I tell Marc, and in the blink of an eye, my living room is rearranged… perfectly.

Ian looks around. “Ugh. I hate when you’re right.”

Nodding smugly, Marc replies, “Sometimes an inch can make a big difference.”

Not even Matt can stay mad, and we crack up laughing. Except Marc, who looks at us bemusedly.

“Dude,” I tell him, then snort-laugh again. “You totally made a dick joke.”

“I…” He blinks, then horror takes over his face. “I really am becoming human.”

“It just makes me love you more,” Ian consoles. “Besides, think what Connor will say when I tell him you made a dick joke.”

Marc’s expression makes me want to grab my phone and take a picture.

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