Page 29 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Keep your fingers under there for a few songs and I’ll work on the waffles,” I say.

“A-alright.”

I extricate the burnt waffle from its torture and scoop another cupful of batter into the iron before closing it. I cringe a little as excess batter bubbles out of the sides. I put too much in. But I also hear the delightful giggle of the woman I’m hopelessly in like with, so I’d say I come out ahead.

I give her a smile as I approach, carefully taking her finger from beneath the water and examining it. “Man, you really are accident prone, aren’t you?” I ask as I place the angry, red fingertip back beneath the water.

“Wooow…” She draws out the single syllable. “You’re really pulling out your best lines this morning, I see.”

“I mean, you did take me home last night. I think I’ve already won,” I tease back.

“Technically you’re the one who took me home, so I think I’m the one who wins,” I say.

“See, joke’s on you. I win either way.” I tuck some of the hair that’s fallen out of her messy bun behind her ear. I can’t help myself. All I want to do is be in her space, touching her in any way she’ll let me. “Damn. You are gorgeous.”

She blushes and looks away. I want to kiss her again.

“Damien Devastation strikes again,” she says wistfully. “How am I ever going to recover after you get tired of me?”

There are times I really hate the Damien Devastation reputation. Were there some convenient, quick, one-night stands? Yes. Sure. Usually backstage in the greenroom, or at a fan’s place if I’m feeling risky. Some visits to a few choice play parties or clubs to scratch a particular itch, explore a kink or two? Absolutely. But for the most part, my hookups did have a baseline of chemistry and respect. It wasn’t something I manufactured or used as a form of manipulation.

But I have to take responsibility for my part in Lillith’s assumptions. If she thinks that this is just a thing I do every time I meet a pretty girl, then I’ll have to show her how wrong she is. It doesn’t help that I fumbled with that whole line about other girls yesterday.

“You feeling blue?” I ask, without answering her question. “I woke up when you were singing “Kiss it Better”, then you seemed to go somewhere else for a while. Something bothering you?”

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and her smile slipping. Her unburned hand goes to her neck like it did last night.

“It’s a little complex to explain,” she says. “And, like—I don’t really know how cool you actually are about witchy shit, so...”

“I’m incredibly cool about witchy shit,” I promise, earning her smile’s return.

“Yeah, you sure? Like— ‘cool with Tarot cards’ cool? Or ‘believe in spirits and mediums’ cool? I know I was talking to you about hermeticism last night, but that’s a pretty different genre from what I’m talking about here.”

“Positive. All of it. Lay your weirdness on me, sweetheart. I can take it.”

She laughs before narrowing her eyes at me, considering. “Tell you what. I’ll give you weirdness proportionate to some of your own weirdness that you share with me. How about that?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. When did we start talking about my weirdness?” I love the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. Despite my evasive maneuvers, it feels a little like playing with my food. It’s thrilling.

“Listen, I’ve already had a seizure in front of you, and you stayed the night in my oddities shop. I mean, you saw me get all weepy twice yesterday. I have been forced into emotional vulnerability with you, and now you’re asking for more? Come on. We need to have an energy exchange here. That’s the first rule of witchy shit.”

“Eugh… alright, fine. What quality of weird are we looking for here? Like ‘superstitions weird’? ‘Food combinations weird’? ‘Sex weird’?”

“All of the above,” she says.

“Greedy,” I accuse. “No way. You have to pick one.”

“I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Lucky for you, I’m desperate to know just about everything I can about you,” I say with a wistful sigh. I check her finger again, expecting the slow rise of a blister considering how angry it’d been just moments before. I’m surprised to find it totally back to normal.

I press my thumb against the pad of her finger, testing it for tenderness. “That feel okay?” I ask her.

“I feel like you’re stalling,” she says.

I let out a sigh, tangling my fingers with hers. “Fine, fine. Such an impatient little bird you are. Which one first?”

“Easiest first. Food combination.”