How he says it—like it’s just an obvious fact—makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Before I can overthink it, I blurt out, “Come home with me tonight.”
He goes still. “Really?”
“I just… I want you to see where I live. Meet Maggie. See the real me.”
He studies me for a long moment, then brings my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my palm that makes me feel all fuzzy. “I would be honored.”
“Even though my apartment is basically a shoebox compared to yours?”
“Even then.” His tongue flicks out briefly against my wrist. “Though I should warn you, I take up considerably more space than the average human visitor.”
I smile. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
The elevator in mybuilding has never felt smaller than it does right now, with fifteen feet of gorgeous naga tail coiled beside me. Sundar’s taken to looping his tail in efficient circles to save space, but there’s still barely room for the two of us. Not that I’m complaining about the proximity.
“Sorry about the tight squeeze,” I say. “The building’s not exactly monster-accommodating.”
“I don’t mind,” Sundar replies, his tail subtly shifting closer. The elevator’s fluorescent lighting catches the gold in his scales, making them shimmer. It’s deeply unfair how he manages to look good even under these awful lights.
“Oh, shit,” I say before pulling my phone out of my purse. “I should really warn Maggie.”
He nods. “By all means.”
I pull up the message app and start typing furiously:INCOMING. I’m bringing Sundar home. PLEASE BE WEARING PANTS.
Maggie responds in quick succession:
HOLY SHIT WHAT
GIVE ME 1 MIN TO HIDE THE EMBARRASSING PHOTOS
Wait does he need like… special accommodations??? Do we have enough floor space???
OMG IS HE READING THIS OVER YOUR SHOULDER
“Your heart rate has increased,” Sundar observes, making me jump. “Are you nervous?”
“What? No. Maybe. A little.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “It’s just… my place isn’t exactly the palace your apartment is. And Maggie’s idea of tidying up usually involves shoving everything under the couch and hoping for the best.”
His hand finds the small of my back. “Aubrey. I spent centuries living in musty, dark temples. I assure you, I have no expectations of luxury.”
“Right, but that was centuries ago. Now you have that gorgeous minimalist apartment with the—”
The elevator dings open, and we both have to shuffle awkwardly to get out without his tail getting caught in the doors.
“—with the fancy cushions and the mood lighting,” I finish lamely, leading him down the hall. “Meanwhile, our idea of mood lighting is the weird lamp Maggie found at a yard sale that sometimes flickers in time to our neighbor’s music.”
“That sounds fascinating, actually.”
“You say that now, but wait until you see it doing the macarena.”
We reach my door, and I hesitate with my key in the lock. “Just… remember that we’re poor millennials doing our best, okay?”
Sundar leans down to murmur in my ear, “The only thing I care about seeing is more of your world, Aubrey.”
The way he says my name could set fire-retardant panties ablaze. But before I can do something inappropriate in the hallway, I press on, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
“Welcome to Casa del Chaos,” I announce, flicking on the light in the entryway—if you can even call it that. It’s more like a four-foot-by-four-foot place to dump all our shoes. “Please ignore any dirty dishes, random craft supplies, or mysterious stains. We’re still arguing about whether that one in the corner is wine or blood.”
