Chapter 7 #3
Murmurs of sympathy went around the table.
“I was wondering,” Monty said, and she braced herself for questions she might not be able to answer truthfully. “Is it true Finn was wearing a kilt when you got married?”
She laughed. Maybe the rumor mill hadn’t been a bust after all. “I only said that because it was easier to explain than what he was actually wearing which was a léine and tartan trews.” She pulled out her phone. “Here, I’ll show you.”
One Google Images search later and Monty was choking on his beer, the rest of Finn’s friends in stitches, scarcely able to speak for how hard they were laughing.
A fresh pitcher of beer thunked down on the table, foam sloshing over its sides. Effie looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Speak of the devil and he doth appear.”
Finn stared dourly at her. “You think you’re funny.”
“Your friends sure think I’m a riot.”
Perhaps it was petty, but Finn’s scowl felt like a small victory, and right now, she would take her wins where she could find them. Anywhere she could find them, no matter how meager they were.
Finn crossed his arms, eyeing his friends with bald suspicion. “What are y’all talking about?”
Savannah gave him a cheeky grin. “We were just about to tell Effie here all your secrets.”
His shoulders stiffened, something that looked an awful lot like panic flashing in his eyes.
“Oh, don’t have a coronary,” Savannah said, rolling her eyes. “I was kidding, jeez.”
“You do realize,” Effie said, helping herself to the fresh pitcher of beer, “the longer I’m in town, the greater the chances are that I’ll find out your secrets even if your friends don’t tell them to me?”
“The girl’s got a point,” Jeb said. “Eventually, she’s gonna find out that you’ve got— Ow, did one of you fuckers just kick me?”
“There’s not going to be an eventually,” Peyton whispered. “They’re obviously getting divorced.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Peyton. I feel like having a wife might have its perks.”
Effie clenched her jaw, her face prickling with heat as Finn gave her another of those infuriating smirks and turned, heading for the bar. Unfortunately for him, what little patience she possessed had run out, and she followed, hot on his heels.
“If you think for one second that being married to me means you’ve got some wish-granting pet demon on a leash who’ll make you rich or—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Finn, already safely tucked behind the bar, held up his hands. “That’s a lot of words you’re putting in my mouth.”
A growl escaped her lips. “What else am I supposed to think when you’re out here spouting off to your friends about the perks of having a wife?”
“Really?” Finn drawled, brows raised mockingly. “You can’t think of any other perks that might come with being married?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, lingering this time, and her breath caught in her throat.
“What are you actually playing at?” she asked, heart cantering against her ribs. “I don’t give a damn what you told Martha, you are not in love with me.”
He snorted. “Of course I’m not.”
Even though she knew it, hearing him deny it so matter-of-factly while looking like that, a carbon copy of the only man she’d ever loved, made something twist inside her.
She’d had dreams like this before, dreams of Finn rebuffing her, rebuking her, calling her wretched and wicked, nightmares of him coldly telling her that he could never love her, not after what she’d done.
Her heart felt sluggish inside her chest, her pulse thready, and her forehead clammy the way it did after waking from one of those god-awful dreams. “Then, why? Why are you doing this?”
“You’re not used to hearing no very often, are you?
” He leaned in, hands braced on the bar, his fingers bracketing hers.
“Manipulating the gossip mill? Coming in here and causing a commotion? Don’t tell me that was your dastardly plan to bend me to your will.
I mean, come on. No offense, but I always thought demons were supposed to be… clever.”
Her cheeks burned. So she wasn’t the cleverest or most cunning demon to walk the earth.
She’d never claimed to be. What she lacked in finesse she made up for with blunt force.
For what she did, a wrecking ball was oftentimes more effective than a chisel.
If she got the job done, who cared how she did it?
“You think this is me causing a commotion?” She tsked. “I’ll show you a commotion. Mark my words. Before this night’s over, you’re going to be on your knees begging to divorce me.”
Before he could form a rebuttal, she reached past him and grabbed the nearest bottle from behind the bar.
Ugh, tequila, bottom shelf to boot. Foul stuff, but putting it back would be akin to admitting defeat, and she wasn’t about to surrender.
Not now, not ever. No, she’d show him. If you mess with a demon? You’re going to get the horns.
Without another word, she made a beeline for the table where Finn’s friends sat, all watching her with open curiosity. She set the bottle down hard.
“Who wants to play a game of truth or dare?”