Page 151 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

I snort a laugh, setting down my glass to do just that. When I return in my own loungewear (black joggers and a distressed sweater), Lillith is queuing up some music on her Bluetooth speaker, and her glass of abomination-cotton-candy-wine is almost empty.

I pick my glass back up and take a sip. Now it tastes like... a vanilla milkshake? Like it even tastes kind of creamy, somehow.

“S’that better? For your. REfiNeD. Palette?” Lillith slurs as Portent blasts through the speakers.

I can’t help but grin. “Are you drunk already?”

“LeAVE ME ALONE,” she says, downing the dregs of her glass and pouring the rest of the bottle into her cup. She pouts as she stirs the wine with her finger, turning it pink and sparkly again. “I told you I was a cheap date.”

“You’re fucking adorable,” I say.

“NO!” She refuses, “I am sss-hexy. And mysterious.”

“Right,” I say. “Of course.”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re being sarcastic? Well I can.”

“I wouldn’t dream of implying that you can’t read sarcasm,” I say. My face starts hurting with my smile. “Not even when you’re adorably drunk.”

“SEXY AND MYSTERIOUS.”

“I see you lose all volume control when you’re adorably drunk.”

“Damien. I will cry. And you will feel awful.”

“Will I? I seem to recall enjoying the sight of you crying.”

“Not when it’s REAL.”

“And these tears—the ones over me calling you an adorable drunk? They’ll be real?”

“YES.”

“Alright,” I say. “Try me.”

A pout. A very adorable, very drunk pout. No tears, but she seems like she’s trying to conjure some. When I can’t help but give her an even more jaw-cracking grin, she rolls her eyes and downs more of her wine.

“Mayyyybe we don’t cook tonight?” I suggest to her as she finishes the glass.

“Why? I can cook! I need to busy my mind.”

“Busy your mind to distract from what?” I ask, testing her.

She blinks at her empty glass. “Mmm... don’t remember,” she mumbles. “Actually, doesn’t Chinese sound good?”

I laugh and nod. “Yeah, sounds dope. I’ll get some delivered. Let’s go get settled on the couch.”

She leaves the kitchen and all the food behind. I sip at my weird milkshake wine as I put the unused groceries away, taking breaks to ask her what she wants to eat. We wind up ordering a mountain of chow mein and a small army of crab rangoons. We skip any proper entrees because, as Lillith reports, she is “in a carbs mood.”

When I settle onto the couch with her, she snuggles up to my side before I pull her onto my lap. She rests her head on my chest and sighs. “Your body is perfect. Basically made for cuddling.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “I like to think it’s made for other, more exciting things.”

“Like waterskiing.” Not a question. A statement.

“Yep. Waterskiing.”

She nods sagely as her eyelids droop. “You’re going to be bored here.”