Page 14 of Summoning Mr. Wrong
As I drifted toward sleep, I couldn’t help wondering what I’d gotten myself into. But for the first time since Deus had appeared on my couch, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find a way to send him back.
Chapter 8
Life with a demon roommate was strange enough. Life with a demon roommate-with-benefits was a whole new level of bizarre.
Deus didn’t exactly do the awkward morning-after thing. Instead, I woke up to the smell of coffee and pancakes, and the sight of him moving around my kitchen wearing nothing but an apron.
“Morning, sunshine,” he called cheerfully when he noticed me standing in the doorway, slack-jawed. “Sleep well?”
“Uh, yeah,” I managed, trying not to stare at his perfectly sculpted ass visible behind the apron strings. “You’re cooking. Naked.”
“Not naked,” he corrected, flipping a pancake with unnecessary flair. “I’m wearing an apron. Food safety is important.”
I sank into a kitchen chair, rubbing my eyes. “Where did you even get that apron? I don’t own an apron.”
“Mrs. Jankowski across the hall lent it to me.” He set a mug of coffee in front of me, exactly how I liked it. “Sweet lady. Showed me pictures of her grandkids.”
“You met my neighbor? When?”
“This morning around 5 AM. I needed to borrow some flour.” He placed a stack of pancakes on the table. “She thinks I’m your boyfriend from out of town. I didn’t correct her.”
I choked on my coffee. “You what?”
“Relax. She was delighted. Said you needed someone to ‘put some meat on those bones.’” He grinned, setting a bottle of maple syrup (which I definitely didn’t own) on the table. “I assured her I was working on it.”
The innuendo wasn’t lost on me. I felt my face heat up as memories from last night flooded back—his mouth, his hands, those tattoos swirling faster as he…
“You’re thinking about last night,” Deus observed, interrupting my flashback. “Your pupils are dilated and your heartbeat just spiked.”
“Stop doing that,” I grumbled, shoving a forkful of pancake into my mouth. It was, of course, delicious. “The creepy demon observation thing.”
“Can’t help it.” He finally sat down across from me, still wearing just the apron. “It’s like asking you not to notice when someone’s shouting.”
I tried to focus on my breakfast and not on all the tattooed skin on display. “So… about last night.”
“Yes?” He looked amused, as if he knew exactly how difficult this conversation was for me.
“Was it… I mean, did you…” I fumbled for words.
“It was excellent, and yes, I enjoyed it immensely,” he supplied helpfully. “Your technique could use some refinement, but your enthusiasm more than made up for it.”
I nearly choked again. “Thanks for the performance review.”
“Anytime.” He winked. “Practice makes perfect, after all.”
We fell into a strangely comfortable silence as we ate. I kept waiting for the awkwardness to set in, the regret, the what-have-I-done panic. But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt… good. Relaxed. Maybe even happy.
Which should have been my first warning sign that everything was about to go sideways.
Chapter 9
My phone rang as I was helping Deus wash the dishes (a domestic scene so surreal I kept expecting to wake up). It was my boss at the coffee shop.
“Julian,” she said without preamble, “I hate to do this over the phone, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Why? Is it because I was late on Tuesday? Because my alarm—”
“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “The owner’s nephew needs a job, and, well… you know how it is. Family first.”
