Hot for Slayer

by Ali Hazelwood

This kind of shit, I mentally informed the universe, does not incentivize good deeds.

A mix of phlegm and blood squirted out of my throat and landed on his button-down, but I didn’t feel bad at all. Fuck him and his dry-cleaning bill.

And with a smile that did not feel like a smile, he began to lick it clean of my blood. It was . . . Well. It just was.

As long as you don’t let anyone get to you before I do, Aethelthryth.

“And where’s that?” “On, um, planet Earth?” His glare tells me I zoomed out a tad too much. “US. New York City.”

This is a degree of situational awareness that doesn’t strike me as typical for a paralegal, so . . . what are our jobs, Ethel?”

I once took a sip of a bonobo, and hurled intermittently for the following six months. Our species has a clear case of hot-girl tummy, and I’m grateful to the twenty-first century for giving us a final diagnosis.

I guess Lazlo is wearing a towel around his hips. But spiritually, culturally, metaphysically, he feels naked.

He’s been here for twelve hours, and we somehow have a routine. I need to get him out of here stat.

“You’re right. I wasn’t truthful. The reason we know each other is . . .” 57 He stares, patient. “You’re a CPA, Lazlo. You do my taxes.”

LOL

“Aethelthryth, nothing would make me happier than having you with me here, or in any other place that I will call home, for as long as I live. Please, come in.”

“Basically, you had a crush on me,” I summarize, my voice raspy. After several heartbeats, he nods. “I suppose so. It wasn’t . . . sexual. Not at the start. But then . . .”

LMAO