Page 33 of Friends With the Monsters
I clean up with quickly with a wipe. Damn Brownie and her nose. I strut out of the bathroom, sans pants and panties, going to my closet with my head held high.
“What the hell are you doing?” Aeson asks.
“Getting some fresh clothes.” I flip on the light switch and grab a pair of jeans. Maybe these will keep my greedy pussy from telling everyone in the house I need a stiffy.
I make my way over to my dresser, grab some panties, and step into them with Aeson watching me.
“Look at you,” Aeson coos at me. “You brought a man home, I’m so proud of you.”
“Three.” I pull my jeans up and go on to my toes to get them over my hips.
“Yes! I knew you were listening to me all these years.” She sighs wistfully, like a proud mother.
“There may be three, but I’m not fucking all of them.” I look in the mirror and fluff my already tousled hair.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re not fucking all three of themyet,” Aeson argues.
“At this point, I would be happy with one. Besides, one of them is the biggest cockblocker I’ve ever met, and the other one is, like, Death or something. I have to go,” I tell her, already walking to the door.
“Death?” I hear Aeson whisper on my way out of the room. Yeah, let that sink in.
I hear them before I can see them. “Where the hell did you come from?” It’s Calix’s voice, he sounds slightly incredulous.
“None of your damned business, you mangy beast,” Gunnar snarls.
“Hey, hey!” I have my hands up—trying to dispel the brewing fight—and accidently block my view so I don’t see Grim right away. But when I do, I stop dead in my tracks—no pun intended.
“Grim?” My hands fall out of the sky to slap the sides of my legs.
“Damiana.” My name rolls off his tongue, and I shiver slightly. So much for the cold wipe making me forget how badly I want something between my legs.
“But…” I splutter. Every time I imagined Grim, it wasn’t like this. I pictured a skeleton, or an old man, but never this. My eyes travel from his bare feet, up past his black pants, and over his loose black shirt, until they land on his achingly beautiful face.
He is sheer perfection. Every proportion is designed to draw you in. Hell, if people knew this is what Death looked like, they would probably run to him. His light eyes stare at the ground as he brushes his shirt over his stomach. Holy fucking shit, it’s kind of sheer, and I can see his chiseled abdominals beneath the fabric.
I hold up a finger, then close my eyes while tapping the middle of my forehead with the same finger. I’m not going to get that image out of my head anytime soon. “Can I—” I clear my throat. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I open my eyes to find Gunnar sneering a smile at Grim, and Grim scowling back at Gunnar.
“Who, me?” Grim looks around.
“Yes, definitely you.” I nod. “I’ll just be another moment,” I tell Gunnar and Calix, who seem to be getting along remarkably well since the Angel of Death appeared, and that’s exactly what he looks like: a fucking angel.
“What is this?” I accuse, the moment we’re out of the foyer.
“What?” Grim looks down at himself again.
“This is what’s under the robe?” I whisper animatedly.
“Yes, do you find me off-putting?” Grim tilts his head away from me like he doesn’t want to hear the answer.
“Off-putting? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?” I look him up and down again.
“Tell me what you would prefer. I can change my visage for you.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
I blink at him several times. He can’t be serious. “Wait, is this what you really look like, or did you,” I roll my wrists, “glamour this up?” I can’t think of a better way to describe it.
“This is my true self.” Grim tips his chin in the air a little, exposing the line of his neck to me, yum. But I think I’ve offended him.
