Chapter 11
Iggy
T omorrow is Thanksgiving. Personally, I’m not an observer of the holiday, but it turns out Chad is, and he seems genuinely concerned that he almost forgot about it. He drives us straight to the grocery store after work. The parking lot is packed, and the inside is a scene straight out of my nightmares. From the moment we step in the door, crowds press in on us from all sides.
I push our cart while Chad walks ahead and tries to clear the way, but it’s like digging a canal with a spoon. We move forward one painful inch at a time, hindered further by the fact that he’s entirely too courteous to people who cut us off. When I hiss at him to make use of his big boots, he shoots me an admonishing look and says it’s our fault for being ‘last minute shoppers.’
“And what are they?” I ask spreading my arms to indicate everyone around us. He gives me another one of his looks before turning to apologize to someone who bumped into him. Apparently, we’re to be held to a higher standard than the general population.
“What are we having for dinner tonight?” I ask when my stomach starts to grumble.
“I don’t know yet. Why do you ask?”
“Well, now that meals are part of my pay, I should get some say in our menu, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I do not think that at all. If you wanted menu input, you should have negotiated for that.”
Damn. He’s right, and it starts my eyes fluttering and sends warmth rushing right to my panties. “Are you open to renegotiating?” I ask on a heavy breath. He doesn’t hear it or see the heated look I’m giving him because he’s too busy checking items off his list.
“Sure. You can pick tonight’s dinner if you do the dishes,” he says over his shoulder, throwing out an opening offer like it’s second nature. My panties dampen even as my nose wrinkles.
“More work? I already put in a full day’s work,” I grumble. I was hoping he’d say something along the lines of ‘if you lay topless in my bed, I’ll cook you anything you want.’ Why couldn’t that be his offer?
He turns to give me a pointed look as he tosses another couple of boxes into our cart. “You are aware that I also worked a full day, right? And I already do most of the cooking and cleaning. And Darcy does the rest.”
“Of course I’m aware. But you realize it’s your house, and I had zero input on the distribution of chores. So, if you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s not going to work. Guilt is a poor negotiating tactic,” I say with a sniff.
“Is it? You and I were raised very differently, then,” he says as he tosses one last item into the cart. Then, turning, he smiles. “I think that’s the last of it. We can get out of here.”
“Thank you, Mother Darkness!” With me in the lead, we make our way to the checkout lines, not fast, but at the top speed I can manage. I don’t have boots, but I’ve got the cart, and I’m not afraid to use it.
I pick the line, and Chad comes up behind me. The weight of his large hands comes to rest on my hips, easy and comfortable, and he nuzzles into my neck. “So, is that a no to my offer?” he asks. His warm breath sends tingles running over my skin. Seduction is a much more effective tactic. I’m not about to tell him that, but the way my breath catches might tip him off anyway. He places a light kiss at the base of my neck and my head tilts sideways to give him more access.
“I’ll wash up if we can have eggs for dinner,” I say. “That’s what I miss the most.”
“I make eggs all the time,” he says. His lips hover over my skin, and I press up on my toes, trying to bring us back into contact.
“You do,” I admit. His eggs tend to be scrambled and taste of butter. They’re good. “But I like them hard boiled.”
“I’ll make you eggs any way you want them.” And his lips press into me, brushing the sensitive spot just under my ear. I melt.
“Will you boil them for fifteen minutes?” I ask breathily as the tip of his nose traces the shell of my ear.
“Yikes,” he chuckles into my hair. “That’s way too long. Have you ever made eggs?”
I turn just enough to shoot him a glare. “A properly done egg takes time,” I say. Our mouths hover only inches apart, and his eyes land on my lips.
“Fifteen minutes? You’re sure that’s what you want?” His brow creases even as his eyes stay locked on my lips.
I nod. “Until the yolk is green. That’s how I like them.” He’s pressed up against my back and still too far away. I reach back until my hand glides around his neck.
“They’re going to smell,” he warns, then groans softly as my nails rake lightly across the nape of his neck.
“Like sulfur,” I confirm, and turning my neck a little further, I brush a soft tease of a kiss across the corner of his mouth.
He uses my belt loop to pull me the rest of the way around. The impulse item shelf rattles at my back as I bump against it, and heat spikes between us. “We need to get out of here soon or things are gonna get inappropriate,” he says with a hint of humor mixed with concern.
“You started it.” I grin then flick my tongue at him.
His eyes go hooded. “Are you tasting me?” he asks, his voice roughening into a low grumble.
I bite my lip and nod.
“What do I taste like?” His eyes flash as he stares hungrily at my mouth.
Before I can answer, someone behind us shouts. “Do you mind? You’re holding up the line!”
We straighten up, and he steps back, putting some distance between us before he turns. “Sorry,” he says and gives a friendly wave. I shoot a nasty glare in the same direction.
The shopper ahead of us makes way, and it’s then that I get my first good look at our cashier. I break into a cold sweat. How did I make it in the door, up and down the aisles, and all the way here without realizing this is the same store I came to right after I was released from jail? She’s the demoness I recognized from summer camp. Shit. I scan the front of the store, and there, just a few registers down bagging groceries, is the orc store manager.
Fuck that guy , I grumble inside. Chad starts emptying our items onto the belt, while I teeter between a mild panic at the thought that the orc manager will pull me aside again if he sees me and seething at the memory of him doing it last time. I hope he gets a papercut from every bag he touches every day and forever, until the end of time.
“Chad,” a cheery voice lights up as he steps up to the register, and my attention snaps back to him. A friendly smile warms his face, aimed right at the cashier, and she’s giving him one right back. A snarl pulls at my lips, but I catch it in time to smother the sound. Not that anyone is asking me, but I strongly disapprove of him knowing her. I don’t like it.
“You’re looking good. Is that a new hat?” The cashier looks him up and down, in a completely obvious way. Her posture straightens, and she goes from slouched to boobs lifted, front and center, in the fluttery bat of an eye.
“Hiya, Marsie.” Marsie , right. That’s her dumb name. “Same hat,” Chad says, tipping it at her. And that’s when I resolve that next time we’re practicing flirting, I’m going to tell him to full stop on tipping his hat. Nobody should get to see how doofy and adorably charming he is until they’ve earned it, and Marsie certainly hasn’t.
“I guess you’re just wearing it extra well today,” she says with a wink.
Oh, is he, Marsie? That’s how he always wears his hat. On his head. What an unimaginative compliment. I glare at her, the tips of my fingers growing hot. I shake them out under the counter, trying to cool them off. The last thing I need is to set off sparks, cause a scene, and have the store manager on me again.
“I haven’t seen you out lately. Did you find a new regular spot?” she asks, her smile never slipping.
“Nope,” he says.
What does she mean she hasn’t seen him out? I try to catch his eye, but he’s looking the other way and scratching the back of his neck.
“I’ll be at Under the Volcano this Friday. How about you finally buy me that drink? Taylin and I are over.” Her eyes flutter in the least subtle invitation I’ve ever seen.
“Uh, sure. Maybe not this Friday, but next time I see you, I’ll buy us a round,” he says with a polite nod.
I feel the sparks coming off my fingers and hear the sizzle of them hitting the floor and the skirt of the counter. Shit . I can’t stop them. Chad’s quick to notice and even quicker to pay. Then he slides a hand across my lower back and steers us out of the store, guiding me with one hand and our cart with the other. I’m not sure how he manages both because I’m too busy glaring over my shoulder.
As we pass the orc manager, the fucker nods and smiles at me, or at Chad. Either way, what the fuck? More sparks.
Outside, heavy gray clouds have rolled in, and we jog our way to the truck through an icy rain. By the time we reach it, I’ve calmed a little and the sparks have died out. My fingers feel almost back to normal. By demon standards that was a minor incident, but for me, it was a lot. I’m a little shaken as I climb into the truck.
“You know you don’t need to worry about her, right?” Chad asks softly as he starts it up. “Or anyone, if you didn’t want to,” he mumbles with a quick glance in my direction.
I straighten up in my seat. What does that mean? He knows I’m leaving after the holidays. This arrangement of ‘six days a week of whatever we feel like’ is temporary. Fridays are his real life. It’s not my place to worry about what he does on those nights, who he sees or buys drinks for. That’s our deal. And that’s what he’s kindly pointing out to me, that I was dangerously close to stepping all over it.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble back. And I truly am. I’m equally sorry and embarrassed. I may not be the world's finest example of a demon, but I do take my deals very seriously. I swear I do. “I’m so sorry. That won’t happen again.”
C had and Darcy start cooking at the unholy hour of six the next morning, and barely controlled chaos rules the day. Around noon, I ride along with him to drop off holiday food at his dad’s cabin. Chad gets a grunt, which passes for a thank you. It doesn’t faze him, but it irks me. I get a glare and a, “Still around, I see.”
To which I reply, “Would you like to pay now or should we add this to your tab?”
Henry and Chad give me the exact same startled look.
“Oh? No charge again?” I ask Chad, feigning surprise with raised eyebrows. Then, turning back to Henry, I say, “He’d make a terrible demon. I’d never go this far out of my way for my family without expecting quite a bit in return, plus interest.” I chuckle, but he knows I’m not joking.
I don’t understand how humans justify taking advantage of family. Strangers sure, but family? The more important the relationship, the more effort you should put into making things square and the more generous you should be in repayment. Humans seem to do it the exact opposite, and I have to wonder how they don’t end up resenting each other.
If, like me, you want to avoid messy family obligations, then don’t accept anything from them. Easy.
“I didn’t ask for anything in return, and I don’t need it,” Chad insists, but he’s lying to himself. You don’t keep up this level of care for someone you don’t want anything from.
“You want him to come for Christmas, don’t you?” I ask.
Chad glances at his dad. “He knows he’s invited.” Of course he knows. Chad invites him twice a week, but Henry waves him off every time.
“Well, now he knows he’s obligated. We’ll see you at Christmas, Henry. Agreed?” I glance around the table set with a feast for one, and then offer him my forearm.
He scowls for a moment, but then to both Chad’s and my surprise, he takes it.
“Fine,” he grumbles. We shake, and Chad and I leave.
B y the time we get back to the house, Darcy has set a beautiful table. She surprises me with an unrecognizable dish that I eventually come to understand is her take on a demon classic, just horrifically undercooked. The top is supposed to be blackened to a shattering crisp. Her version is golden brown, but it’s still a touching gesture. If she were my mom, I’d refuse to eat it, but I can measure Darcy’s and my relationship in days and weeks, which means I can accept her kindnesses with little to no obligation to repay her. It’s nice. I need more new acquaintances in my life.
We sit down together, Chad, me, Darcy, and Haisley in her high chair, and the strangest part of it is the constant conversation. Of course, my only basis for comparison is the demon tradition of the Silent Hour Feast on New Ember’s Eve, and as the name implies, the meal is consumed in complete silence.
“Where’d you work before you got the park ranger job?” Darcy asks, alternating bites for herself and the baby.
“That’s personal,” I say with soft reproof. She’s human and therefore slightly oblivious to the boundaries of proper etiquette. She can ask what type of work I do, but she shouldn’t ask for specifics.
“Oh. Ok. Where’d you go to college?” That’s also specific.
“I have a close friend who still doesn't know that,” I tell her. Although, I already like Darcy more than the friend I'm thinking of, so maybe I'll tell her in a year or two, if we keep in touch.
“You told me about you and Chad the first day I met you. Wasn’t that personal?” Darcy gives me a puzzled look, and I understand her confusion.
“It wasn’t personal at the time,” I say. “So I was free to share.”
“Is it personal now?” Chad asks, and even though he looks relaxed the way he’s leaning back in his chair, I see a touch of pink creep up his cheeks, and I think he might be holding his breath.
“Yes, obviously. If she asked me about you now, I wouldn’t tell her a thing.” Why would he ask that? Doesn’t he think we’ve moved into personal territory? Since agreeing to be friends , we’ve also slept together a multitude of times, worked together, and bound ourselves with several original and renegotiated deals, most of which are ongoing. Our relationship is the very definition of personal. It is quite possibly the most personal relationship I’ve ever had.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair as that thought sinks in.
He doesn’t say anything, just smiles down at his plate, and I catch the soft impressions of where his dimples are starting to show.
“Do you want to hear about other meaningless hookups I’ve had?” I ask, turning back to Darcy. That seems to be something she’s interested in, and it’s something I can share freely.
“No,” she and Chad answer in unison, and echoing their outburst, Haisley screeches. Well, I tried. It’s their stupid tradition to talk during a feast anyway. If they don’t know how to make appropriate dinner conversation, I can’t help them.
D ishes are officially my new nightly chore. I don’t have to do them by myself, but I have to help. Every night. It’s not terrible, but I’m embarrassed to admit that this new agreement was arrived at while Chad had his fingers inside me and he was whispering vaguely bargain-ish terms right against my clit.
It was so fucking hot, I entirely failed to make any kind of counteroffer. To be fair to me, it felt like a very, very good deal at the time, but now that I’m standing at the sink with my head a little clearer, I think it boiled down to: “I’ll make you a deal, how about you help out with dishes from now on?” And I agreed. Harumph .
That’s what I get for following him to his apartment for a ‘traditional nap’ after the Thanksgiving meal. Naps are tricks. I know that now.
Just as the last of the dishes are put away, my phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and freeze.
“Everything alright?” Chad asks, leaning back against the counter as he throws a dish towel over his shoulder. I do a double take because my brain fritzes a little over how sexy that looks. I mean, yes, he’s rolled up his sleeves too, and his forearms are crossed right over his chest, but why is the addition of a dish towel so hot? I shake my head clear.
“I’m just, uh—I need a few minutes,” I say and head down the hall to what I’ve started calling my Friday-night room to check the message. It’s from my one and only sister, Ardesca.
Ardi
Hey. Do you have a new job?
Fuck. I was very careful to make sure word of my volunteer position didn’t leak to anyone. But sisters are snoopy and cunning. A nervous prickle runs up my skin.
What did you hear?