Page 4 of Summoning Mr. Wrong
Deus emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron. An actual apron, over his black jeans and t-shirt. “You’re home! Perfect timing. Dinner’s almost ready.”
I stood in the doorway, keys still in hand. “You… cleaned? And cooked?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I’ve been around for millennia. Picked up a few skills.” He gestured for me to come in. “Hope you like pasta. I had to improvise with what you had, which wasn’t much. Seriously, do you only eat ramen and cereal?”
“I’m on a budget,” I said defensively, following him into the kitchen.
My tiny kitchen table was set with actual plates (where did those come from?) and a bottle of wine I definitely didn’t own.
“Where did—”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” Deus said with a wink, serving up plates of pasta that looked and smelled like actual restaurant food.
I sat down cautiously. “Is this… safe to eat? No weird demon ingredients or anything?”
He rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to corrupt your soul, I wouldn’t use pasta.” He sat across from me. “It’s just garlic, olive oil, and the sad little bits of vegetables I found in your fridge.”
I took a tentative bite and couldn’t hold back a moan of appreciation. It was delicious.
“Good, right?” Deus looked smug.
“Okay, yes, it’s amazing,” I admitted. “But this doesn’t change anything. We still need to figure out how to get you back to… wherever.”
“Not happening until I complete the favor.” He sipped the wine. “Just enjoy the perks of having a demon roommate in the meantime.”
After dinner, Deus insisted on watching a movie, claiming he needed to “study contemporary human culture.” Which is how I ended up sitting on my couch next to a demon, watchingThe Devil Wears Prada(his choice, ironically).
“Meryl Streep is not an accurate representation of demonic authority figures,” he commented, sprawled comfortably beside me. “Our bosses are much worse.”
“You have bosses?” I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.
“Of course. Supernatural bureaucracy makes your human versions look efficient.” He stretched, his arm casually extendingalong the back of the couch behind me. “The paperwork for this summoning alone will take a century to process.”
I was acutely aware of how close he was, how his body seemed to radiate heat. The tattoos on his exposed forearms continued to shift and move, hypnotic in the blue light from the TV.
“What do the tattoos mean?” I found myself asking.
Deus glanced down at his arms. “They’re my history. Every assignment, every era, every significant moment.” He held out his arm. “See this one? Pompeii, 79 AD. Bad timing on my part.”
I leaned closer, fascinated despite myself. The tattoo was moving, showing tiny figures running from what looked like a volcanic eruption.
“You were at Pompeii?”
“I get around.” He grinned. “Been everywhere, seen everything. Perks of the job.”
“And what exactly is your job? Besides annoying humans and stealing their cereal?”
“I’m in the desire business,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Helping people figure out what they really want. Sometimes what they need.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. His amber eyes seemed to glow brighter in the dimness of my living room.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced abruptly, standing up. This conversation was heading into dangerous territory. “You can… I don’t know, do whatever demons do at night.”
“Usually I’d go find someone to tempt into sin,” he said casually, “but I’m feeling lazy tonight. Mind if I use your shower?”
Before I could answer, he was already heading toward the bathroom. I heard the water start running a moment later.
I retreated to my bedroom, changing quickly into sleep shorts and a t-shirt. The events of the day caught up with me allat once, and exhaustion hit like a truck. I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of my life.
