Page 8 of How to Flirt with a Hellhound
“I have his hammer. He didn’t get coffee delivery this morning, and he usually does. Would it be normal to bring his hammer over and a cup of coffee for him?” I asked.
“Well of course you should return the hammer. That’s totally normal. Not sure on the coffee, though. It might come off as a little stalkerish to admit you know when he gets coffee delivered and when he doesn’t. Or to give him coffee how he likes it prepared, which I’m sure you know with your attention to detail.”
“I should give him coffee that isn’t prepared to his liking?” I asked. “That seems strange.”
“No, maybe just skip the coffee altogether is what I’m saying,” Jude replied. “You don’t want to come off like a stalker.”
“He doesn’t think I’m a stalker. He thinks I’m a serial killer,” I answered reasonably.
Jude must have been taking a drink, because I heard the sound of him spitting something out and then coughing. “He thinks what?” he gasped.
“That I’m a serial killer,” I answered again. “I heard him telling his friend on the phone.”
“Why the hell does he think that?” Jude asked once he stopped coughing.
“Well, he was inquiring about death from stomach wounds. So obviously, I was helpful,” I explained.
“Obviously, he was helpful,” Jude muttered under his breath. “Ok, listen, Dex, you can’t talk about death and dismemberment with humans.”
“Why not?” I asked. “He brought it up. I might have brought up losing fingers, but only because he was asking about that.”
“Dex,” Jude sighed out. I could tell he was probably rubbing his forehead. He did that sometimes when our interactions with humans didn’t meet his standards.
“And anyway, I think now he thinks I used to torture people for the military, not that I’m a serial killer,” I added helpfully.
“Ok,” Jude said, “obviously I’m missing something here, because it isn’t normal for humans to ask those sort of questions unlessthey’reserial killers.”
“Oh, he isn’t a serial killer, although he has admitted that maybe he’s a stalker,” I replied.
Jude sputtered through the phone, so I added proudly, “But don’t worry, he’s only stalking me.”
I could hear Jude doing some deep breathing then. I gave him a minute, going over to the coffee machine and starting a cup. He had said not to bring a cup for Toby, but maybe if I had my own cup of coffee with me I could offer some to him. That would be polite, right?
“I think you better start at the beginning,” Jude finally said.
So I told him about Toby, his writing, and the conversations I’d listened in on with his friends and personal assistant. I might have left out some of the details—he didn’t need to know how hot Toby thought I was, or how cute I thought he was—but I explained the basics.
“Ok,” Jude finally answered. “I guess that makes a little more sense. He isn’t actually stalking you. He thinks you’re hot. Although it kind of sounds like you’re stalking him if you’re listening in on his phone conversations and keeping track of his delivery schedule.”
“He’s cute,” I said.
“Hmm. Well, then I guess there’s only one answer.” Then Jude started singing, “Let him into your heart, and then you can start to make it better.”
“Jude,” I said, rubbing my own forehead now.
“You have found him, now go and get him,” Jude sang.
“Jude, seriously,” I cut in.
“Remember to let him under your skin, then you’ll begin to make it better better better…” Jude continued to sing.
“Jude!” I half yelled, cutting him off.
He only chuckled.
“I never got that anyway. How would I let him under my skin? Am I supposed to flay myself and drape him in it? I don’t think most humans would enjoy that,” I mused.
Jude sighed then. “Man, this is gonna be hopeless. Look, just return the hammer, and just try to… I don’t know… Be normal. Don’t talk about flaying people or dismemberment or let him know that you know when he gets coffee delivery.”
