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The demon dog.
Christ.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snap.
Her body jerks and—
Thunk.
A blip of something—not my cock this time—slides through me, but I push that away as I move over to her, shoving my hand into the cabinet, positioning it between her head and the underside of the counter so she won’t bump it a second time. Then I wrap my other arm around her, slide her out of the cabinet and take her spot.
Demon dog has something in his mouth again.
I sigh, maneuver out, flick off the knob of the stove, turning off the burner. Whatever has turned to a black tar-like substance in the bottom of the pan smells like ass, so I take it to the sink, load it up with soap and water.
Then I spin back to face Nova, who’s rubbing the back of her head.
She catches me looking and winces.
“What’s the demon dog have?”
A scowl. “Nothing.”
Swear to fuck, this woman is contrary just to be contrary.
I lift an eyebrow. “That’s why you were trying to play Oscar the Grouch?”
Her nose wrinkles. “He lives in a trash can.”
“He’sa puppet,” I say. “And you’re a liar. Is the pervert trying to eat another pair of underwear?”
“No,” she snaps. “Steve’s not used to his surroundings, you know. And he had a scare earlier and he’s—”
“An asshole,” I finish for her, reaching in, and, using my longer arms to my advantage, I pluck him out of the cabinet, figuring rightly that with his mouth occupied, he won’t be able to sink his tiny fangs into me.
He snuffs and snorts, but he doesn’t bite me as I plunk him into Nova’s lap and shut the cabinet door.
“What does he have this time?” I ask, leaning back against the counter as she wrestles it out of his mouth.
Her eyes come to mine then dart away, but she doesn’t answer as she keeps struggling with the dog, trying to simultaneously open his mouth and reach in to retrieve—
He coughs and—
Splat.
Something bright blue and black ends up in a puddle of whatever fucking disgusting liquid the dog spits up. Nova reaches into it like it’s no big deal, extracting what had been in the demon’s mouth and lifting it, slimy strings still attached.
I gag.
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Tell me you’re a prima donna without telling me you’re a prima donna.” She carries the object over to the sink, turning on the water and spending enough time cleaning it off that I know it has nothing to do withherbeing a prima donna and everything to do with her dog being disgusting.
Case in point?
The tiny demon licking up his own…fluids.
I gag again but reach for the roll of paper towels on the counter, showing how much of anon-prima donna I am by clearing up the mess in the face of the growling, snotting beast.
At least he doesn’t try to bite me.
