Page 117 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

When she steps into the bedroom, she’s about four inches taller than I’m used to, thanks to the strappy platform heels she’s got on. The shoes elongate her legs. I know this because the milky pale of her thighs is on full display as the lacy black fabric of her dress splits into two slits in front. The back of the dress barely dusts the ground thanks to her added height.

The top of the dress is structured like a bodice and the neckline plummets all the way to the bottom of her sternum, revealing all of her chest tattoo except for what’s covered by elegant black lace that clings to her shoulders and upper arms and the long column of her neck.

The sleeves break open at the crook of her elbow and spill down her sides like she’s some kind of extra-sexy Sandersen Sister.

“Holy shit,” I say breathlessly. “God fucking damn.”

She laughs. “Damien, are you going to spend the whole night staring at my tits and my thighs?”

“I wasn’t.” But I was. And I know exactly how she knows. Because when I finally meet her pewter eyes, I’m gobsmacked again.

Her hair, as mentioned previously, is always perfect. Always. But... she’s... grown it. Instead of dusting her shoulders, it tumbles in long, thick waves all the way to her waist. Pale lavender locks frame her face underneath her usual white hair. She’s braided some of it, even woven in some black lace here and there.

Her makeup, of course, is impeccable. Her eyeliner is sharp and dark, her eyeshadow is this lurid shade of violet that color shifts when she blinks. Her lips are lacquered with a pigment that’s shiny and black. I want that lipstick all over my face and my collarbones and the length of my cock. God, how am I supposed to take her out when all I want to do is tackle her into her own bed?

A variety of earrings tinkle and catch the warm sunlight of the afternoon as she tilts her head.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I need to fucking change,” I say. “I’ll look like an asshole standing next to you when you’re dressed like that.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No way. I’m not going to be one of those shitty boyfriends who wears cargo shorts to the first date while you look like you belong on a red carpet,” I say.

“You own cargo shorts?”

I stop, taken aback by the question for a second.

“Er—no,” I say. “But it’s—you know—the vibes. Like, spiritual cargo shorts, you know?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Alright, well... Should we go to your place then? So you can change?”

Oh, fuck yes. Not only do I get to spend a night with my girlfriend while she’s actively filling her role of the most beautiful woman on the planet, but I get to rub it in all the guys faces too?

This is the best day of my fucking life.

“Yeah!” I say, getting off her sofa, finally. I grab the key from Lillith’s coffee table and swing it around my finger before catching it in my palm. “Come on, I have our rental car outside.”

It feels unreal to take her out, honestly. I’m so used to the usual routine of hanging out all day at her apartment that I almost forget to open the passenger door for her. I have to abruptly about-face and jog back to her to open it.

“Sorry,” I say.

She smiles a pretty closed-mouth smile up at me, and I feel like I’m sixteen and clueless about women again.

“You’re so flustered,” she says as I get into the car and key the engine. It starts up quickly, since it’s a brand new SUV. It’s comfortable and it smells like new car. I’m just grateful I don’t have to take her out in the shitty white van that got eviscerated last week. It would have felt weird to drive her around in that when she’s looking like... this.

“I can’t help it,” I say. “You look... I mean... Little Bird, you’re always a smokeshow, really. Like, really, really, ridiculously good looking—”

“Is that a Zoolander reference?”

“But,” I continue (also, yes it is), “Tonight you look like... like... like I would happily lie down in a fucked-up circle of black candles and let you stab me to death for your dark lord? And probably thank you for it?”

She laughs, her smile a white flash between her perfect, lacquered lips. I pull away from the curb and head for the house I’m sharing with the guys.

“So where are we going tonight?” she asks.

“All surprises,” I say.