Maybe it was a shitty idea to move her in here. Although I can’t say I regret it.
“You’re seriously not going to open a package from your mother?” she asks. “Can I?”
I find myself nodding before I can stop myself and she grins at me before grabbing a knife and slitting the top open. For some reason, that causes my dick to twitch, too.
I’m not sure if it’s the grin or the knife, or the confidence she shows while opening it.
I avert my eyes as she pulls out a bunch of packing peanuts, rooting through them until she plucks out what looks like a miniature grill. Sin opens the lid, snorts, and promptly shuts it again.
“Huh. It’s a grill,” she says. “One that apparently shapes all your food so they look like dicks.”
Of course it fucking is.
“Your mom seems fun,” she says, not even trying to disguise her grin.
“Chaos demon,” I mutter. “Spreads chaos and eats it up with a damn spoon.”
“What sort of demon are you? I’ve never... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you feed.” She opens her mouth and shuts it again. “I’ve just realized that might be a personal question I shouldn’t be asking.”
“No. No. Ask away, love,” I say, then freeze myself at the slip of my tongue.
I’m definitely losing control here. Of the house. Of my dick. And my sanity.
“I don’t feed on anything in particular,” I tell her. “Strong emotion. Doesn’t matter what kind.”
She eyes the grill again, trying and failing to hide her amusement.
“She showed up the first time we were on tour. Brought an entire flock of fucking geese with her. Have you ever tried to get an entire flock of geese out of a dressing room?”
Sin’s laughing now, her eyes gleaming as she lets out a full cackle.
Yeah, my dick’s no longer half hard.
I hold up my scarred arms. “Half of these are from those fucking geese. And getting goose shit out of the carpet was no joke.”
She stops cackling, just about. “Seriously?”
Well, no.
“I’m lying about the scars,” I tell her.
“Is your mom why you like to organize things so much? Everything in its place?” She eyes the row of cereal boxes behind my head, all perfectly aligned.
I quickly close the cupboard door, hoping she doesn’t notice we have five boxes of her favorites side by side.
“No doubt,” I reply, clearing my throat awkwardly. “When my therapist suggested the same thing, my mother somehow found out and you don’t want to know what she sent him. I was blacklisted after that.”
She snorts and her face breaks into another full grin.
Huh, maybe being blacklisted was worth it.
I need to pull myself together and remember what we’re doing here. She’s here to do a job—to help us put on the best damn tour in living memory, and for my brothers to find their spark again.
“Come by the practice studio tomorrow, around eleven,” I tell her. “I’d like to see what you’ve come up with so far for the tour. Ideas. Designs. Wherever you’re at so far.”
I don’t miss the way she swallows, or the apprehension rolling off her with my words. I put it down to her being nervous to show her work and shrug it off.
“Y-yep, I can do that,” she says, before clearing her throat.
