Page 59 of Demon Loved
My internal tangent is cut off by the tinkling bell announcing her arrival. She extends her cane in front of her, clicking it against the tiles, as her head tilts in my general direction.
“Lucy!” I lick my suddenly dry lips as I stand, waving her over.She’s blind, you dumbass!“I’m here!”
“I can see that,” she says, smirking at her own joke. Her purple hair shines beneath the fluorescent lights as she steps closer, the only sound theclack, clack, clackof her walking stick.
With an agility and self-assuredness that leave me stunned, she slides into the seat opposite mine and grabs her cup of coffee.
“Oh my god,” she groans, tilting her head back. “This is the nectar of the gods!”
Is this the time where I make a joke that only I’ll understand about there actually being a god? You know, angels and demons and all that…so I’m assuming there’s a big man too.
Nah. She’ll think you’re a religious lunatic, Katrina. You can’t be weird.
Don’t.
Be.
Weird.
“I’m happy you called.” Lucy absently picks at the sticker on her cup, the one labeling her drink type and my name when I placed the order. “I needed to get away from all of the…” She wiggles her fingers in the air with a grimace.
“Testosterone?” I supply with a nod of solidarity. Because, girl, same. I feel that on a spiritual level.
“I love them and all, but…” She shakes her head slowly. “They can be overbearing, possessive, slightly psychotic pains in my ass.” Her frown curls upwards into a conspiratorial smirk as she leans forward on her elbows and winks. “Literally. One of them is very into anal play.”
Are my cheeks on fire?
Am I dying of spontaneous combustion?
Not that I’magainstsome butt action with my guys…
Molten lava percolates in my stomach as memory of my time with Van plays on repeat in my head. I practically rub my thighs together like some shameless hussy desperate for her next lay.
Probably not the most appropriate thing to do in front of your new friend.
We talked about this, Katrina. What did we say about being weird?
“So, what’s up with the glum face?” Lucy queries, and I straighten in surprise.
“How can you…? I mean, you’re blin—” I gesture to my own face, my skin on fire, as she chuckles, the noise stopping my stupid in mid-sentence. “Shit. Sorry. That’s extremely rude of me. I didn’t mean…”
This is why you have no friends, Katrina,I chastise myself with a mental slap for good measure. And then, for added effect, I kick myself in the proverbial balls as well.
“I can hear your voice, Sherlock,” she quips good-naturedly, not taking offense at all to my…um…word vomit. It’s a real disease. “You sound…sad. Morose. And as your friend, I don’t like it. Now, tell me what’s going on,” she demands.
As if on cue—as if the universe itself is playing a cruel practical joke on me and then laughing its ass off (side note, would the ass of the universe be Hell? Is it laughing its Hell off?)—the bell to the coffee shop jingles once more as the door is thrown open, and Janie St. James and her merry band of bitches step inside. Instinctively, I try to make myself as small as possible, practically shrinking into my seat.
Oh, hear me, great floor monster, and swallow me whole.
Why is she here?
Is she stalking me?
I know that’s illogical, but my brain is currently in a state ofwhat the fuck do I do now?
As if she feels my gaze on her, Janie turns to stare at me, eyes widening almost imperceptibly in her stupidly pretty face. She nudges her friend, and her friend nudges another girl, and so on and so on, until all five of them are staring at me and tittering.
Lucy frowns, peering over her shoulder as if she’s actually capable of seeing them.
