The Devil Wears Black

by L.J. Shen

Layla, my childhood friend turned next-door neighbor, called him a real-life Gaston. “Easy on the eyes but begging to get thrown from a roof.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He put a hand on his chest mockingly. “At least our hopes are aligned.”

“Thanks for watching over Daisy. I usually walk her three times a day, for twenty minutes minimum. She likes Abingdon Square Park. Specifically chasing after a squirrel named Frank and catcalling other dogs. Just make sure she doesn’t run into the street. There’s a measuring cup in her food bag—one scoop in the morning, one in the evening. Her vitamins are by the utensils drawer, yellow pack. Don’t worry about changing her water too much. She drinks from the toilet bowl anyway. Oh, and don’t leave anything on the counter. She will find a way to open and eat it.” “Sounds like me after a night out.” Layla grinned. “Frank, huh? Are things serious between them?” “Unfortunately for him.”

“Clementine, their daughter, is such a peach.” “Sounds fruity,” Mad squeaked, getting whisked away by Mom without sparing me another glance.

“Celibacy. Let’s pretend I’m saving myself for marriage.” “Sweetheart, you sang your carols in the pantry, Jacuzzi, three of the bedrooms, and the pool when we stayed here last Christmas. Your virtue couldn’t find its way back to your body with a map, a compass, and a GPS.”

Mad opened, and I became weak in the knees and hard everywhere else, because what the fuck?

My cock stood for a round of applause, throwing imaginary roses at her feet.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to coordinate clothes? I remembered you are very fond of black. Black glossy door, black furniture, black satin sheets . . .” She began to count all the black things in my apartment. “You forgot the black blinders. Would you like to pay my bedroom another visit?” I offered her a wolfish smirk. “Hard pass.” That’s not the only thing that’s hard right now, sweetheart.

“We’re seeing each other.” Ethan nodded in confirmation, pleased with her bullshit explanation. If I were introduced as anything other than boyfri . . . Finish that thought, idiot. My brain pointed a gun at my temple from the inside. I fucking dare you.

“Do you smell that?” She sniffed the air theatrically. “Smell what?” “The urine from the pissing contest you just launched at my doorstep.”

“Look, Chase, you’re a nice guy—” “No, I’m not,” I said, cutting her off. She faltered. “True. But you are a real catch. Not because of your money or status but because you are funny, quick witted, smart, fun, and—yes—look like you’re the product of an orgy consisting of all the Greek gods, Chris Hemsworth, and James Dean.”