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“But you’re supposed to register. It’s human law. They like to keep track of us.” “F-word human law.” Apparently, she really didn’t cuss.
“Really?” she said too loud. “I mean…six o’clock. Wear whatever you want.” Nox snorted. “Okay, I’ll probably be wearing this for the third day in a row.” She didn’t look nearly disturbed enough so he threw in, “And also cut-off short shorts. I’m not shaving my legs either. You’re welcome.” “Great. Great, that’s great. I’ll wear something to match you.”
A country club with a classy lady in matching outfits. Dad was going to shit himself laughing.
It was super boring sitting at the bar watching your family talk about stock markets and hearing about some girl named Candy who slept with half the eligible bachelors. I don’t think Peter is your match because he ripped a gnarly fart like four seconds before you sat beside him.” Mom choked on the water she’d been sipping, and Nevada pursed her lips against the loud laugh she really wanted to give. “H-his name is Darren,” she corrected him, “and ew.” “Right? I would’ve waited until at least the fifth date for that kind of grotesque behavior.” Nox deepened his voice and said the last two words
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“Woman, I shared my nachos with you yesterday. We’re practically married. Do you want the duck or the sea bass or both?”
Nox cleared his throat loudly. She was wearing a dress and had her hair curled so he should woo her into bed properly, the way Mom always said he should talk to girls. “You give me erections. Of my dick.” He gestured grandly at his lap. “My dick is erect.”
“I know.” Her bottom lip trembled, and her voice went thick and shaky, too breathy like she was gonna do something horrifying like cry. Oh, God. He should run. He would rather be shot by Torren again than watch the girl he had warm fuzzies deep in his nutsack for go weepy.
“What do I do?” “Probably hug me, and I’ll feel better.” In a rush, he crushed her to his chest and froze. “Now what?” he whispered.
“I told Darren I didn’t want the match, and he said horrible things.” “Oh. That’s good. How would you like me to kill him?”
So Nox was probably going to use a knife to disembowel him, or perhaps just run him over with his truck a few times… “And then he told me no one in the den respects me as a functioning member, and that the sooner I said yes to his proposal, the better it would be for my reputation.” Poison was also an option… “And then he brought out this stack of papers. It was a contract to pair up, and I read the first two paragraphs and wanted to puke in the front seat of his fancy Lexus because he was trying to make me sign documents that would guarantee I would have at least four kits for him, one after
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Look how cute I am! You don’t want to eat me!
She kind of wanted to laugh, but mostly wished she could find a hole to hide in from the mortification. She’d just taken a leak on the Red Dragon. Please God, let this be rock bottom. Don’t let life get worse than this.
Wait… he looked hot, but he also looked mad. I’ll fix it. So she licked his lip and crossed her paws and did her best to give him a foxy-flirt-smile.
Nox was standing beside it with the swan in his arms. Mr. Diddles, Nox had named him after they caught him humping a duck statue. He was now Nox’s second best friend, next to Nevada, though he still threatened to kill the horny little thing every three hours or so. He wouldn’t, though. Probably.
“I like it,” Torren said, still staring at the writing. “Did you use Baskerville Bold.” Nox beamed. “Why yes, I did. It’s my favorite font for vandalism. It’s classic, thank you for noticing.”
“Please don’t say it,” Vyr said tiredly. Nox arched his eyebrow. “Nevada.” Vyr sighed and muttered, “I strongly dislike my life.”
“Fiiine,” Vyr muttered. “We’re a crew. For now. But I’m not biting you fuckers because you probably taste like cheap beer and bad decisions.”
