“You are the Michaelangelo of mayhem.”
He acknowledged the compliment with a flourish. “Thank you.”
“Speaking of mayhem, it turns out that my classroom was way worse than I thought. I could use a hand tomorrow, if you’re free.”
He sat on the opposite end of the couch. “You don’t mind if I’m seen?”
“Do you have anything else you can wear?”
Andy feigned outrage. “And abandon my signature outfit?”
“Maybe something a little less conspicuous.”
“If you insist.”He stood up and placed his hands on his shoulders, then ran them slowly over his chest and down his abdomen to the tops of his thighs.
Erin sat up, her gaze tracking the movement of his hands. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what you asked.”
The fabric of his jacket rippled like a tilted lenticular image, changing from deep red to a professorial brown corduroy, spreading downward until his trousers also transitioned from waist to cuff.
Erin closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. “That’s … very nice. But maybe a little formal for moving boxes in ninety degree weather?”
He cocked his head at her and ran his hands down his torso again, holding eye contact the entire time. This time, his ensemble rippled into a buttoned chambray shirt tucked into artfully distressed blue jeans and a jet-black leather belt.
Erin’s mouth went dry. “Nice,” she croaked.
He smirked. “I’m glad you approve.” He rolled up his sleeves and turned back to his posters.
She felt the urge to do something for him, since he had clearly made such an effort for her. “Are you hungry? Do demons get hungry?”
Andy chuckled. “Not as a physical need, no—but appetite is a sensation of the mind, and in that sense I have hunger to spare.”
“Can I fix you something?”
“Not on your life. You’ve been moving boxes all day. Lie down. I’ll get us something.”
“No, really, I don’t mind.” Erin started up from the couch.
He whirled around and stared her down. “Sit, mortal, before you overexert yourself.”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted or grateful,” said Erin.
“As you please,” he said with a shrug. “As long as you stay put.” He left the living room for the kitchen.
She lay back and listened to the pleasantly domestic sounds of his movements.
“Do you have a tray?” he called.
“In the cabinet on the lower right.”
She heard the cabinet door opening and the rasp of the tray being extracted, followed by a thump.
“Got it—oh.”
“What is it?”
“Something fell out of the cabinet. No big deal.”
