It’s a Dead Head’s tee featuring an enchanted head-banging skull graphic. I have a matching one at home from the concert we went to last summer.
“Burned it,” he says, straightening the hem around my thighs.
The shirt is so big that you can barely see my skirt underneath. But it doesn’t matter because Elliot drowns it in another of his heavy leather jackets anyway.
I wait while he rifles through his drawers for a shirt of his own.
He settles on a simple black shirt with the words “Dirty Dog” plastered on the front in bold red letters, and I can’t help but laugh.
“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“No,” he answers. “It’s ironic.”
“I think you meanidiotic.”
His eyes roll.
“You ready?” he asks, hand poised over the doorknob.
I shrug.
I don’t even know what to be ready for.
Somehow, I killed a man tonight, only to end up blindly following another.
Now that’s ironic.
Elliot grips my hand, lacing our fingers together to lead me through the house, only stopping once we reach the top of the front staircase.
“Don’t be mad,” he says.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“For what I’m about to do.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to say ‘what’ again. Instead, he pulls me down the steps, throws his head back, and howls.
Without hesitation, a chorus answers, and heads turn to watch as Elliot thrusts our hands into the air, shouting in victory.
The crowd below erupts at the sight of us, whooping and cheering, as Elliot pins me to his side and carries me down the last few steps.
I smile the entire way, too stunned to do otherwise, but as we reach the bottom of the stairs and Elliot draws me closer, I can no longer contain it.
“You motherfucker,” I hiss between my teeth. “I’m going to kill you.”
He chuckles, nuzzling my hair to cover his words.
“You’re batting a thousand tonight, baby. Don’t test your luck.”
My teeth grind, and the only thing keeping me from throttling him is Dame’s voice, coming from just over my shoulder.
“What are you two doing?” he asks.
My back stiffens, and the hair on my neck prickles as I turn, nearly running into him.
He is standing much too close, arms crossed, blue eyes piercing, and I take a step away, backing myself into Elliot.
Dame is terrifying when he’s angry, but you’d have to move a mountain to get him there. Still, there’s something about him, maybe that constant expression of confidence, that makes you want to avoid disappointing him.
