Page 22 of Partners In Evil

Emma peers down at me and makes a zero with her left hand. “I’m more of a dog person.”

In a few moments, I hear her murmur a three-two-one to herself, and the red light at the top flashes on.

“What do you know, beat my old time by three seconds,” she says while looking at her wristwatch.

I let out a frustrated exhale as I pull myself up to the top and hit the red button. “Luck,” I observe.

Emma snorts out a laugh and elbows me in the side before beginning her descent. I peer down from above. It’s quite the angle, I can really take in her gorgeous features from here. But I can’t sit and leer all day, we have places to be.

“You did really well,” Emma says after we’ve changed. I can’t help but feel a little insulted at the hint of condescension. I was supposed to be the one who looked good! “Not many guys can keep up with me like that. I’m actually kind of impressed.”

It’s not the praise I was hoping for, but I’ll take it regardless.

Our next stop is a trendy new food hall that only just opened recently, sporting food from a dozen different cuisines around the world. What’s more adventurous than trying new food? As soon as I think I have her beat on something, she’s the one who comes up with the best idea.

“Let’s get something from every place and try all of it!” Emma is practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. It’s incredibly endearing, and I can’t help but smile.

We meet back at a table in the middle of the hall, both holding trays full of small dishes.

“You need to try this gnocchi,” she says with a great depth of seriousness. She holds the fork up to my face, expecting me to let her feed me. My instinct is to balk at the idea, but her smile is so wide and her cheeks are so pink with glee, I immediately cave.

“Huh,” I say after swallowing. “That was…”

“Trite,” Emma says, pushing her glasses up her nose. She lowered her voice and put on some fake, rich guy accent. “The garlic paste the chef attempts to pass off as a sauce is somehow both overwhelming and under seasoned at the same time.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Truly, an insult to real Italians everywhere. One star. Here.” This time it’s my turn to feed her, and she accepts it without hesitation.

“Hm. The noodles in this yakisoba taste too well cooked,” she says with a nod. “Yes. Not crunchy or squishy, just right.”

“And that’s wrong?” I ask.

“That’s suspicious,” she replies. “Two stars.” Emma’s facade of a self-important food reviewer breaks for a moment as she descends into a fit of giggles. “Okay okay, now this one!”

I take a bite of the Greek inspired eggplant and meat dish. “Hm. I don’t think there’s enough nutmeg,” I say.

“Are you kidding? It’s like, ninety percent nutmeg!” Emma drops her fork and covers her face with her hands in a sad attempt to hide her boisterous laughter. People are beginning to stare.

Let them.

“I think a dish such as this one could stand to be ninety two to ninety five percent nutmeg. Don’t you agree?” I ask.

Emma just shakes her head, tears at the corner of her eyes.

I silently proclaim dinner an absolute success.

Our final event for the night is a club I know very intimately. The club knows me as well. The bouncer lets us in on sight, the bartenders pour heavily, and the owner greets us personally. I keep expecting to see Emma impressed, but instead she simply seems taken in by the bright lights and glittering dresses surrounding us.

I’ve never been one to waste a perfect opportunity, so I let her seep into the ambiance with me. We move together, the beat of the underground dance music pumping like our hearts together in time. The heat pools between our bodies, sweat gathering in nooks and crannies made of flesh and fabric. Our hands graze against each other's arms, necks, hips.

It isn’t long before I’m sucked into this fantasy just as much as she is. Emma raises her arms over her head, eyes gently closed as she shakes her head back and forth to the rhythm. The world has melted away, leaving nothing but us and this music. We spin through time, faces so close I can inhale the very breath of her soul. Chemistry sparks between our fingertips, igniting a passion that passes through our bodies and settles into a space secreted in shadow.

I want her like this forever. The two of us simply melded into one. A human and a demon, merging together to form something wholly new and extraordinarily beautiful.

I don’t want this night to end. But like all things perfect, it must.

I walk Emma home in the early hours of the morning. The sun hasn’t peaked out just yet, but it’s threatening to do just that. Its glow is already here, though, on Emma’s face. She’s radiant despite her obvious fatigue. That wide, pretty smile hasn’t left her face since we started this long day together.

“You look happy,” I say casually. It’s a silly observation to make, but it felt necessary all the same.

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