Page 41 of Friends With the Monsters
“You mean Grim?” I scrub my hands over my face.
“Yes, and two others.” Crooked man’s fingers pop as if they’re breaking when he moves closer.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Why the fuck are they here again?”
“You knew?” He scurries away as I stand, making an ungodly racket as he does. Does he even notice the way it sounds when he moves, like breaking bones and grinding cartilage?
“I didn’t know they were here now. I thought I sent them packing last night.” I stretch and move my tongue around my mouth. I think something crawled in there and died last night—oh yeah, I just forgot to brush my teeth.
I make my way over to the bathroom, leaving the door open. It’s not like I need privacy to pee or anything.
“Why were you warning me that they’re here?” I inquire around a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
“Death doesn’t make social calls.” The crooked man clatters a little closer.
I let out an unladylike snort. “Yes, he does—he’s been visiting me for years. I didn’t know who he was until recently, but I assure you, he does make social calls.” I rinse my mouth out with water and head back into my bedroom.
The crooked man hisses, “I just wanted you to know. I must go.”
“Why? You just got here.” I bounce back onto my bed. I don’t want him to go yet. With him here, I have an excuse not to go downstairs and find out what the hell Grim and the others are doing here—again.
“Be careful, Dami,” he warns, while rattling out the door to disappear.
“Jeez, it’s like everyone is scared of him or something.”
“Because they are.” Grim steps into the doorway that the crooked man just left through.
“Eavesdropping is rude,” I chastise Grim.
He lowers his head with a slight nod. “Forgive me. I didn’t know I was intruding.”
“Why are you here?” I force myself to appear unaffected, but I’m not. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful and aloof? It’s a recipe for the perfect Dami man candy—totally not fair.
“We had a bargain: no one would leave until all your questions are answered. May I?” Grim steps into the middle of the doorway, asking for entrance into my bedroom.
It’s probably not the best idea, but I sigh and mutter, “Whatever.”
Grim walks over to one of the chairs near the end of my bed, and I turn so I can keep an eye on him—not to notice how good he looks stalking into my bedroom. He’s still wearing the black t-shirt and dark jeans from last night. Maybe they really did stay here all day.
“I’m pretty sure I said everything I needed to say yesterday.” I look down at my nails.
“I think there’s much that still needs to be discussed. I understand you’re upset, Damiana, but that doesn’t make everything else irrelevant.” I ball up my fists. Grim still has that über calm demeanor. I want to scream in his face.
“You understandI’mupset. How very magnanimous of you.” Even though I’m trying to remain calm, my words are clipped, and my tone is harsh. He’s making me feel as if someone else might have a different response, that maybe I’m being a brat.
“Would you like some hot cocoa? I’ve been practicing your recipe.” I finally hear a note of something in Grim’s voice, something other than his quiet calm.
I’m immediately on guard. Why would he practice my recipe? There must be something he wants from me. “Why, what else haven’t you told me?” I ask skeptically.
“There is a lot we haven’t discussed.”
“I knew it! You wanted to butter me up,” I accuse.
“Butter you up?” Grim looks at me with his head tilted to the side.
“Yeah, give me something in exchange for me giving you what you want.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“The drink?” Grim’s brow furrows as his eyes scan from left to right quickly. “I thought it would make you happy. Does it not?”
