Page 122 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

I chuckle against his lips. “Yeah, I know. And lucky for you, I’m obsessed with you too.”

“Damn right. I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says, crushing a hard kiss to my lips and deepening it just long enough to leave me breathless. I’m dazed when he lets me go and hurries into the recording studio, rocking back onto my heels with a sigh.

I sit shakily on a chair next to Fletcher’s. He’s got his chin resting on the palm of his hand as his green eyes scan over me. “You know, I was a bit worried when he got besotted with a witch,” Fletcher says.

I flinch at the admission. Fletcher is Irish, so I suppose that means he could be a devout Catholic depending on which Irish circles he grew up in. But he looks at Damien as he sets up at his kit. He strikes a few of his drums and his cymbals and I hear nothing. It’s fully soundproofed. “Damien. He’s had so many girls take advantage of him. Even before Portent started getting bigger online—Damien’s got this bleeding heart thing about him that makes him easy to use.

“When I realized the lass he was going for was a real witch, I was really concerned about what you might want to use energy like his for. But he’s only stronger since meeting you—a better musician, a better friend. And I think that says as much about you as it does about him.”

I blink at him like I’m seeing him for the first time. I squint at him and finally see it, crackling at the edges of his aura. The little glimmer of glamour. It’s such a good one that the moment I notice its seams, those very seams disappear. As soon as I’ve noticed it, I’ve suddenly forgotten it’s there.

“I’ll do everything I can to protect Damien,” I tell Fletcher, my focus going back to his words. “I’ll protect him from anything, including myself.”

Fletcher nods. “I know you will, Lillith,” he says as he presses a few buttons on the console and hands me a set of huge over-the-ear headphones. I can already hear Damien’s drums come through before slipping them on. I wear them, but I have to do a little finagling so I don’t mess up my hair. I wind up wearing them upside down, with the band beneath my chin. I hold them in place so they don’t fall off.

I get a little worried when Fletcher looks at me, but he just gives a quick nod before he presses down on another button and speaks into a mic on the desk. “Ready to get started, Loverboy?”

“Yep. Baby, can you see alright?”

I smile at him and nod. “Yep. Got a front row ticket to the gun show.”

He laughs, the sound warm and full. “Alright, Fletch, cue me up.”

“Aye,” he says, clicking around on the iMac before pulling up a music file with so many tracks on it that I can’t even tell what I’m looking at. “You want a click?”

“Fletcher.” Damien makes his name a single sentence.

“Right, not sure why I asked,” Fletcher says as he presses down on a button on the keyboard. A metronome starts to tap a steady rhythm in the background. “Alright, starting the recording now.”

I watch, mesmerized, as Damien’s expression sharpens, his eyes focused as he bounces his heel with the click. When a humming bit of feedback sounds over the speakers along with the click, he brings his sticks down on the floor toms, occupying the empty space with a punchy fill. A pause, then another fill over the onset of the bass and guitar coming together.

As Damien plays along with the up-tempo verse, I’m standing out of my chair so I can see what he’s doing better. I knew this already, of course, but Damien is alarmingly, arousingly competent with his instrument. He’s the kind of player that makes the instrument look effortless, even though I’m critically aware that it’s not. And when he catches my eye during a pause in the song, winks, and spins a stick mindlessly before playing a call and answer solo with Fletcher’s pre-recorded guitar, I think I’ll just melt into a puddle.

He’s so fucking sexy. And I get to keep him. I get to love him forever.

The song is over too soon, and I suddenly find myself unsure if I want to continue the date. It would be much more enjoyable to hang around and watch him play. Competence porn is a very real thing.

“Good work, Dame,” Fletcher says through the mic. “You play like you mean it when your lass is around.”

“Damn straight,” he says, whipping his hair out of his face and grinning with those pointed teeth at me. “That’s who I’m playing for.”

I have to actually put my hand over my heart for how it pangs.

“Come to the next session, why don’t you?” Fletcher asks me. “I mean, if you’re able to get out of the house now, it’d be nice to have someone here for Damien to show off to. It’s good motivation.”

“If everyone’s okay with it, I’d love to,” I say.

“I’m okay with it. That’s all that matters,” Damien says.

Damien gets dressed again. Luckily, his hair is only a tiny bit damp from the effort of playing, and it only emphasizes the charming waves his hair naturally falls in. His lips are just barely tinged a sheer black from my lingering lip color. Once he has his shoes back on, he takes my hand in his.

“Ready to get out of here, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, leaning into him to kiss his cheek.

His smile grows as he leads me out of the room. When we step out, we find Wren and Satoshi tangled together on the couch, making out in the late afternoon sunlight.

“Use protection,” I sing song as we pass them.