He clears his throat. “Why the fuck are you—never mind. What the hell is this thing?” He points at the washing machine.
“Uh, it's a washing machine. It cleans my clothes,” I say, and he raises an eyebrow. “Wait. How do you know what twerking is, but not a washer?”
“Is a washer and a washing machine the same thing?”
I throw my hands up and spin around. I don't really know where I'm going or how to get rid of him. After he changed the batteries, he just sort of poofed out of existence. I assumed he could leave whenever he wanted. Throwing him out seems rude, but I'm in a pissy mood. I shouldn't take it out on him.
His footsteps follow me, and it takes everything in me not to confront him or even glance over my shoulder. I make my way to the living room and swallow a groan. I hurry forward and gatherthe clean laundry scattered on my couch. I spin around, my arms full of shirts, pants, and my unmentionables. His gaze dips down and I swear his nose twitches along with his lip. If he laughs at me, I'm going to lose it. I don't know what that looks like yet. Either I'll yell at him or burst into tears.
“Sorry. Uh, why are you here?”
“Because you were stuck behind a rinser machine.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Washing machine or just washer. How do you know about twerking?”
“Dimi—another demon told me. He's not great at it, though he took great pleasure in showing me.”
I nod, not entirely sure what to say. An image of Omen bouncing his ass to a song with a heavy beat flashes through my head. There's no way he'd do something like that. He's much too grumpy for that.
“Did you try to do it?” The question slips out before I can stop myself.
He slowly shakes his head. “You're imagining me twerking, aren't you?”
“What? No.” I spin around and drop my clothes on the couch. “Well, you saved me from a humiliating death. Thanks. Anything else?”
“Actually, yes.”
I face him and plant my fists on my hips. “Let's hear it then.”
He tilts his head. Fuck, I hate being mean. Even to a demon. Being confrontational isn't my style either. I'm more of a “bow out and pretend we grew apart” kind of person. Which doesn't even make sense since I'm rarely the one who leaves. Lately, my friends have been pulling away and I'm realizing I might be the throwaway friend.
“Well?” I prompt, then press my lips together.
He narrows his eyes. “Potato.” He says it so seriously, I don't know how to react.
“Are you asking what potatoes are? Or do you want a potato? You're going to need to give me a little more.”
“Dimi—someone said to bring back cooked potatoes since he knew I was coming topside.”
“There a reason you—you know what? Never mind. Doesn't matter. What kind of potatoes?”
If he doesn't want to tell me about his life or his friends, that's perfectly fine. It's not like I'm going to share all my deep, dark secrets with him, either. It's annoying he won't even tell me his friend's name, which is clearly Dimitri.
He winces and moves his shoulders like he's shying away from pain. When he notices me watching him, his face goes blank.
“Potatoes are potatoes, aren't they?” he finally asks.
I pull in a deep breath, then blow it out slowly. “There are over four thousand different varieties of potatoes. Not to mention hundreds of different ways to cook all of the edible ones. So, technically potatoes are potatoes, but you're going to have to be more specific.”
His mouth drops open, then snaps shut. It's such a human expression I almost laugh.
“Just name some things off and I'll tell you if it's right.”
He glares at me as ifI'vedone something wrong. I'm about to refuse when I remember I summoned him to open a jar of sauce for me. It's such a ridiculous request and he could have made things a lot harder than he did. Demons are known for fucking with those who summon them. At least that's what I've been told. Who knows if I was being fucked with or not when I summoned him? Certainly not me. Maybe that’s why he just randomly showed up.
“This is ridiculous,” I mumble, then sigh. “French fries, mashed potatoes, smashed potatoes, perogies, colcannon…”
He snaps his fingers and shadows swirl around his hand. “Fries. That's what he wanted. Do you have one?”
