Page 11 of Demon Loved
It’s because I’m only one person, one girl. How am I supposed to hold the attention of five men who’ve been around for centuries? One’s a lust demon, for fuck’s sake, who has no doubt been with so many women, he’ll resent my virgin ass. What can I offer him that he can’t get elsewhere? What can I offer any of them?
Awkward facts about the lifecycle of the octopus or the periodic table? Gah! What man wants that? I mean seriously, in comparison to them, I don’t have anything special about me.
Those thoughts ricochet in my head, drowning me in self-loathing, as I step forward in line.
“You need to order, miss.” An irritated voice pulls me out of my musings, and I turn towards the counter just in time to see the woman in front of me cock her hip to the side, her head of purple hair tilted straight ahead instead of leaning back so she can see the menu board just above the coffee shop barista’s head.
I briefly wonder if I should change my hair from pink to purple, but then decide against it. Pink gives the illusion of cheerfulness. Some days, I need that illusion. Like today.
“Well, what do you have?” the girl pesters the worker, irritation underlying her words.
“You shouldn’t have gotten in line if you’re not ready,” the worker—a lanky, twenty-something-year old guy—snaps.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, stepping forward. I don’t like the way the barista is staring at the girl, as if she’s a pesky bug he’d like to stomp underneath his shoe.
The worker—Brad, his name tag reads—forces a smile.
“Maybe you can help yourfriendhere.” Distaste practically oozes from his voice. Behind us, I hear one of the other customers grumble in impatience.
Whoa. Did some kind of wedgie demon walk in here? Seriously, what the hell is making everyone so grumpy?
I turn towards the girl, and my breath catches when I take stock of her for the first time.
For starters, she’s positively gorgeous. Purple hair cascades to the middle of her back in smooth, natural waves. Her features are devoid of any blemishes—small, pert nose, naturally rosy cheeks, and pink, plush lips. Her body is to die for as well, and I feel another niggle of self-consciousness. Large breasts, tapered waist, slender hips… She looks as if she could be a model. The leather jacket and skinny blue jeans only emphasize her natural curves.
The second thing I make note of is the pair of sunglasses obscuring her eyes from view. And in her hand, tapping in front of her, is a walking cane.
She’s blind.
Did the barista seriously not notice that? Brad deserves a nut punch.
“Maybe you can actually help me out instead of being a fuckwad,” she says lightly, the last word directed at the rude employee.
“Yeah, sure,” I say immediately, and then begin to read the menu aloud. “Pumpkin spice latte, flat cappuccino…”
After only thirty seconds, an old man behind me grumbles, “Hurry the fuck up.”
Of course, that only makes me read slower, and I see the girl’s lips twitch upwards. “Red eye, a combination of coffee and espresso.”
“I’ll have that! Large, please,” she interrupts me. Brad grumbles but places her order into the register. She then turns her head towards me expectantly. “What are you getting?” Digging into her purse, she grabs out a cute, flower-patterned wallet. “I’m paying.”
“You don’t need to—”
She waves her hand dismissively, cutting off my protest.
“Nonsense! Pick your poison.”
“Oh, um, I’ll just have a mocha. Small, please.”
The girl grins conspiratorially. “Make it a large. And also, we’ll take a chocolate chip muffin, please.” She turns to me, and whispers sideways, “They have those, right? Every coffee shop has those.”
Once I confirm they have the treat she wants, she pays for both of us, and we move to stand off to the side and wait for our order.
“Thank you,” I blurt like an imbecile, cheeks instantly flaming. “I mean, thank you for buying. My drink. You didn’t have to do that. Not that I don’t appreciate it! Because I do. Oh my god. I’m just going to stop talking now.”
The girl releases a tinkling laugh, one that garners the attention of every warm-blooded male in the vicinity. Even the douchebag Brad turns to stare at her, his eyes roaming over her form appreciatively.
“Well, thankyoufor not being an asshole.” Her lips curve into the beginnings of a smile, something that is both mischievous and genuine. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”
