Page 153 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

The one that agrees with Lillith’s.

Because something does feel like it’s careening toward us. And I know I won’t survive losing her, either.

ㅤ

“Girl, you have chow mein on your boob.”

I crack my eyes open to see Wren leaning over me, looking mildly disappointed. The sun slants into the house through a crack in the curtains we closed when Damien decided to make the night a marathon of making me come. I feel like I’m hungover, but I don’t think that’s realistically from the two glasses of the wine. I think I’m feeling the absence of constant oxytocin from Damien torturing me with too many orgasms.

“What time is it?” I groan.

Damien’s tangled around me, I can feel the incessant press of his morning wood against my bare thigh. The blanket he grabbed from the sofa is draped over our lower halves.

“It’s almost noon, girl,” she says. “Satoshi texted me. He wants to talk when he gets here to pick up Damien and—seriously, girl. Aren’t you supposed to do like... chocolate sauce and strawberries and shit when you fuck? Chinese food doesn’t exactly come across as erotic.”

“Then you have never had a crab rangoon,” I slur, looking down at Damien, sleeping on my chest.

I tap him a little. “Damien, baby. Baby, wake up.”

He wraps his arms tighter around me, lifting his head just enough to bite onto my nipple. I yelp. Yes, I’ve danced naked under the moons enough with Wren to not be embarrassed by her seeing me naked. That doesn’t mean she needs a front row seat to Damien enjoying sleepy nipple play.

My yelp wakes him and he glares at me, then seems to register Wren’s presence.

“Whoa, what the fuck,” he says, immediately protecting my modesty by pulling the blanket up over my chest. “Bro. Do you guys ever, I don’t know, call ahead or whatever?”

“Satoshi said they’re picking you up in like twenty minutes. I thought you’d be... well, at least clothed.”

“Shit,” he groans, dropping his head back. “Alright. I’ll get up.”

Wren nods, but then stays there. He looks around the room for a moment. “Uh... Could you, like, fuck off for a second? Respectfully?”

“Oh. Right,” she says.

Something occurs to me. “Wait. Where’s Aemon?”

“He said it smelled like ‘human fluids’, so he stayed downstairs in the shop,” she says.

“Okay, but you couldn’t take the hint and stay there too?” Damien gripes.

“Like I said. I thought you guys would at least be clothed. And... hells... on her bed or something. You guys really just fuck on the floor like animals?”

“Among other places,” I say, grinning. “Should I give you a tour?”

“Ew, no. Just come downstairs when you can,” she says, rolling her eyes and leaving my apartment.

Damien and I take a quick shower when she’s gone. And it really is quick. Purely utilitarian. I can’t stand the idea of Aemon smelling sex on us, and Damien can’t stand the idea of feeling gross during a seven-hour travel day to New York. I ask about him packing and he tells me he’s just going to buy clothes when he arrives.

I sometimes forget that he kind of has money. Like, Real Money. Grown Up money.

We stumble down the stairs and when we do, Aemon gives us both an unimpressed stare. “Thanks for stinking up our apartment,” he says to me.

“That’s my apartment. You are... like an obligate pest that shares it with me.”

“Are you equating me to a rat?” Aemon drawls.

“No. Rats are way cuter. More like a cockroach.”

“Unnecessarily mean,” he says sourly.