Chapter Nine D&D Night
“All I’m saying is that clearly this Tolkien guy had some sort of demonic connection because that fire demon legit looks suspiciously like my Uncle Jo.”
I pause setting out the French onion dip and chips to look at Syn.
“Uncle Jo? You mean to tell me there’s a big, bad, balrog demon running around Hell named Jo?”
She shrugs, several of her braids slipping over her shoulder. “His name is Jovorath, but I call him Uncle Jo.”
Unreal.
I shake my head and resume my snack station set up.
After yesterday's awkward conversation, Syn and I watched the extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring. She asked a billion questions, listening to me wax poetic for infinitely longer than necessary, and still wasn’t done after almost five hours.
Typically, it takes just under four to watch, but with all the questions, plus taking care of Gideon and getting us fed, we went way past normal runtime.
My geeky heart sang.
Had I not had schoolwork to catch up on today, I would have indulged in her request to watch The Two Towers before D&D night. I hadn’t had this much fun since...well, never really. Lydia didn’t mind watching the movies with me, but she didn’t have the deep-seated love for them that I do.
It turned out there were a great many things Lydia didn’t mind.
She just didn’t love them.
Me.
Gideon.
I shove the unpleasant thoughts away and focus on the present, where Syn is trying to quietly open a fourth bag of chips.
“We do not need more chips.”
She jumps like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“Don’t humans have some saying about variety?” she pouts.
I fight the smile that’s trying to break free.
She’s in her glamour again for obvious reasons.
Her long braids hang loose like a multicolored waterfall down her back.
Tonight's attire includes a t-shirt that says “Demons do it better” written in flaming script and a pair of distressed jeans that mold to her hips and thighs, which makes looking away feel like my own personal trial.
She’s stunning.
Yet I find myself missing the way her skin shimmers between purples and blues in her natural form. Or the unique silver of her pupils. And her wings.
Both forms are beautiful, but her true form is a level of beauty words cannot yet describe.
“Demoness to Ezra,” she says with a laugh. The musicality of the sound pulls me from my inner thoughts.
Thoughts I should not be having about a demoness who is only here due to a cosmic clerical error. Thoughts that are coming more frequently, the longer she’s here.
“Variety is the spice of life,” I reply, circling back to the original question.
“See, I’m adding spice to your life.”
Oh, Princess, if you only knew.
“No more chips after that one,” I relent.
She makes a delighted noise and tears into the bag with unbridled excitement.
“You have a problem,” I say as she inhales the bag.
“I am the problem,” she says gleefully. “I also need a bowl to put these in.”
Walking behind her, I reach around and open the cabinet to grab another large bowl. My arm slightly curls around her as I set the bowl down. I can just hear her quick intake of breath.
“Your bowl, Princess,” I say close to her ear.
“Thanks,” she says a little breathily.
For one heartbeat, neither of us moves.
The open kitchen suddenly feels cramped.
The air starts to sizzle.
I’m all too aware of how close our bodies are.
Gideon lets out a frustrated cry from the portable crib, breaking the spell.
I step out of her space and try to shake the feelings that her close proximity is creating.
Syn practically shoves the chip bag into my hands and scurries over to scoop Gideon out of the crib. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the self-proclaimed badass demoness is as obsessed with my son as I am. She practically melts anytime she’s in his orbit.
And I melt at the sight of them.
“What’s the matter, baby bear?” She coos, cradling him in one arm and straightening his onesie that says “Demon in training” in the same fiery font as hers.
When she magically produced the onesie, I couldn’t think of a single coherent thought. Not one protest. My heart did that stupid thing it does every time her eyes sparkle when she looks at Gideon.
Gideon babbles and kicks his legs happily.
“He’s got your number, Princess. He’s figured out if he makes a peep, you’ll scoop him up.”
Syn rolls her eyes and rubs her nose against his. “Who could resist this little charmer?”
His mother.
The thought comes in sharp and hot.
Fortunately, the doorbell saves me from my internal spiral.
Syn's head pops up, eyes finding mine. I see uncertainty lurking in their depths.
“Is my glamour okay?” she asks nervously.
“You look beautiful.”
The smile I’m gifted is soft. The kind of secret smile you only give to one person.
“Ready?” I ask when the doorbell rings a second time.
She looks down at Gideon, smile brightening enough to rival the light of a thousand stars.
“Ready,” she says, badass demoness confidence restored.
Syn follows me to the living room and stands back so I can open the door. Mike, Ben, Jenna, and Bea all file through the door. They all stop short when they catch sight of Syn holding Gideon.
“I believe some introductions are in order,” I say to my clearly surprised friends.
I had a feeling Bea wouldn't tell them ahead of time. She was the only person I’d initially told about Lydia. She’d kept quiet until I was ready for the others to know, respecting my need to process.
“Everyone, this is Syn. We’ve been...talking on a D&D chatboard and decided to meet in person this week.”
I half expect to choke on my words and for the lie to leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
Except, it doesn’t.
We were talking—through a Ouija board and planchet. It was a D&D prop. And she did decide that she needed this to be an in-person situation.
“Hi,” she says, readjusting her hold on Gideon, “Nice to meet you.”
“Syn, this Ben, Mike, and Jenna. You met Bea at the store the other day.”
Jenna’s head whips around so fast I fear she’ll have whiplash.
“Did you?” she says to Bea in a voice that promises retribution later for keeping it from her.
Everyone says they’re greeting and eventually heads to the dining room to set up.
Thirty minutes later, Syn and Ben are in a heated debate.
“The orcs should flank from the ridge,” Ben says in a commanding voice.
“That’s tactically dumb,” Syn replies coolly.
Ben sputters, “Excuse me?”
She shrugs, waving her free hand at the board as she holds Gideon in her lap with the other.
“You spend all this time campaigning to prove you’ve earned the favor of the Gods, just to trap your own forces between two choke points.”
“No,” Ben says, “That’s called tactical positioning.”
“Or turning your hard-won horde into sacrificial lambs, thereby pissing off said Gods and incurring their wrath. And let me tell you, they make those Uruk Hai look like pussycats,” she says matter-of-factly.
I choke back my laughter but can’t fight the smile at her reference.
Jenna whistles. “Damn Ben. I think Syn might be right.”
“No. No way. This is a strategic move. Will there be losses? Yeah, but we’ll gain—”
“A pile of dead bodies and a bounty on your head for your troubles. I just said that, dude.”
Everyone burst into a fit of laughter.
“Mike? Come on, dude, where’s the support?”
Mike holds his hands up in surrender.
Ben pats his back wildly for a moment before Bea asks, “What are you doing?”
“Searching for that enchanted dagger Mike just embedded in his back,” Syn says simply as she stands up.
The room erupts into hysterical laughter.
“I’m gonna change him,” she tells me as she walks past. “Can you grab me some more chips?”
This girl and her chips.
“Some of each?”
“Naturally.”
“This isn’t over,” Ben calls after her.
“I’m pretty sure that dagger in your back begs to differ,” she calls back.
I push back from my chair and grab Syn’s plate before heading to the kitchen.
“I like her,”
I turn around to find Bea leaning against the kitchen island.
“You’ve known her thirty minutes,” I say casually.
“Thirty-five if you count the store. The point is that makes me an expert.”
I scoff, pouring chips from each of the chip bowls onto Syn's plate.
“She helped Mike with set up, even though he’s meticulous and kept adjusting her item placement.”
“I saw.”
“When Ben asked about work, and I told everyone I got the promotion, she talked to me about it.”
I decide Syn needs some dip to go with her flight of chips. “She was being polite.”
“Uh huh. She’s been holding Gideon so you’re free to play,” she deadpans as something flutters in my chest.
“She didn’t want to just jump into an established campaign.”
“She looks at your son like he’s made of the purest starlight.”
I nearly drop the plate.
Because she was right.
It was the same look that had me wishing for things I couldn’t have.
And that terrifies me.
“You seem happy,” Bea says gently. “Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
“We’re,” I say, before clearing the lump from my throat, “We’re just seeing how things go.”
Her eyebrow raises a fraction, and I immediately regret engaging in this conversation.
“That’s not a ‘we’re just friends.’”
“We are friends—I’m done with you,” I say, throwing a chip at her.
“Okay,” she says simply, grabbing the chip off the counter where it landed and heading back to the dining room.
I stare after her, then down at the plate in my hand.
We’re seeing how things go.
Since when had there been a we?