“Like blackmail?”
She gave a mock-innocent shrug. “What can I say? My boss taught me how to fight dirty.”
I chuckled, a smile tugging at my mouth before I could stop it. “I hate to disappoint, but I don’t think I believe in that kind of love. At least not the unconditional kind.”
“So, what then?” she pressed, sticking her leg out to poke mine with her stocking-covered toes. “Do you want terms and conditions even in your love life?”
“Well,” I said, pretending to consider it, “that would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Each party fulfils their obligations and acts on their parts. Both left satisfied.”
Setting her beer down on the table, she flipped over a piece of paper from a scrapped idea. “So,” she said, a mischievous look in her eyes, “what are they?”
“Pardon?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Your terms and conditions for love. Tell me.”
“And why are we doing this?”
“Hello? Manifestation! So, hurry up. What do you need in order to have your love?”
My eyes danced between hers and the paper before I laughed, throwing my hands up in surrender before crossing my arms over my chest.
“She must smell good.”
Harper barked a laugh at that. “Seriously?Thatis the first thing?”
“I’m a demon. We tend to be sensitive about these things. And this is my love, not yours, so keep writing,” I lectured, barely holding back a smile. “I want her smile to light up a room when she walks into it. And clause A to that, I must be able to always make her smile.”
After she finished writing it down, she looked up at me expectantly. “Anything else?”
“One more. She must want me to love her.”
A silence stretched between us, the mood somehow turning serious.
“Give me your hands,” she finally spoke, perking up in her chair holding out her own hands palm up, a mischievous look sparking behind her eyes. When I didn’t immediately comply, she rolled her eyes, pushing her hands forward again.
I smirked, taking one last sip of my beer before I set it down, placing my hands in hers.
And then she laughed—actually laughed—as she shook her head.
“What? You asked for my hands.”
“No,” she managed through her laughter, “hold your hands slightly above mine, palm down.”
My eyes narrowed as I followed her instructions, lifting my hands slightly above hers, the warmth of her touch lingering on my hands.
“Okay,” she started, “I am going to try to hit the tops of your hands. No flinching allowed. You must pull your hands away before I hit them. If I hit you, my turn continues. It is only your turn when I miss.”
Before I could answer, her hands quickly flipper over, slapping the tops of mine with a loud crack, followed by her infectious laughter.
“I was not ready! Go again that doesn’t—”
Another slap. More laughter.
Alright, Flower. This is how you want to play?
As she moved her hands back under mine, I watched intently. The tips of her pinkies poked out at the sides, slightly pink from hitting me.
As soon as she twitched, I ripped my hands back, narrowly missing being struck again.
