Page 1 of Oh No! There’s an Incubus in my Hot Spring (Getting Cozy with Demons #1)

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Cheater, Cheater, Pad Thai Eater

M y boyfriend is fucking my assistant.

Scratch that.

My ex- boyfriend is fucking my ex- assistant.

On my couch.

In my apartment.

I snap my mouth shut, unable to look away. She’s bouncing on his lap making ridiculous porn star noises with her eyes closed tight. The sweet and spicy scent of pad thai from my favorite restaurant wafts up from the bag clutched tightly at my side.

Wonderful. Now this smell will be forever associated with the feeling of cold, immobilizing heartbreak.

Jason grunts, throwing back his head and tossing his wavy blond hair.

“Alexis.”

The sound of her name from his mouth yanks me out of shock. My pumps click as I take two tentative steps forward.

“I’m home,” I say, because what the fuck else do you say when you find your boyfriend cheating on you?

Ex-boyfriend.

I must not have been loud enough to overcome Alexis’s very obviously fake orgasm because neither of them stops. He’s not even touching her clit. That thought surges through me and lights a fire of anger. It’s not the fact that he’s cheating, not their betrayal, but that he doesn’t even have the decency to fuck her right. Not as if he ever fucked me right, either.

That fire powers my body like a steam engine. My heart thunders so loud it drowns out the movie blaring on the TV. I take two more determined steps, then flick on the dining room light.

“Hi, honey, I’m home!” I say much louder, my chest aching from tight fury radiating heat.

“Oh, fuck!” Jason shouts as he shoves Alexis off his lap.

She shrieks as she falls back, her head hitting the coffee table with a loud thunk . She doesn’t get up from where she falls on the dark, artsy rug. Is she dead? Part of me hopes so, but probably not.

Jason comes running around the couch, a pillow pinned to his hips as if I’ve never seen him naked before. “Syl, baby, you—I’m sorry, it wasn’t—”

“Stop right there,” I say, holding up the takeout bag. “Unless you want third-degree pad thai burns on your dick.”

He swallows hard. “I can explain.”

Despite the inferno thrumming through my veins, I’m so collected on the outside I feel like a robot. “Don’t bother. Pack your shit and be out of here by tomorrow night.”

His nostrils flare and he stands upright. “You can’t just—”

“This is my apartment.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” he practically whines, his face flushed red.

I snort at how pathetic he sounds. I feel like I’m seeing a side of him I’ve never seen before. No—that I pointedly ignored because I thought I was in love with him.

“Maybe Alexis has a spare room for you. I pay her well enough.”

Jason shrinks a little. “Baby, please. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, despite having a hundred thousand more words I want to hurl at him along with the pad thai. The image of him screaming in pain, searing noodles clinging to his junk like an octopus as I berate him, sends a thrill through me.

Tears gather in his golden-brown eyes. “Please, Syl. I love you.”

I clamp down on the crazy girl rearing to take control and breathe deeply. “Tomorrow night, eight PM,” I start, and his eyes get hopeful, as if I’m planning a date. “You’ll be out of here by then.”

His jaw tenses. “You can’t seriously think that’s happening.”

I walk past him toward the couch to check on Alexis before heading to the bedroom. She’s still breathing and there’s no blood pooling on the floor. The crazy girl in me pouts a little.

“I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say slinging my travel backpack off my shoulder onto the rumpled bed. Great, they were probably fucking here, too. These sheets are definitely getting burned.

“Please, baby, don’t do this to me.” He grips my arm and revulsion rolls through me so deeply I sense I’m losing my mind. Don’t do this to him ? What about what he’s done to me?

I grit my teeth as I barely resist the urge to cover him in sticky, sweet noodles. “Do. Not. Touch me.”

His hand slides away and I swallow back unbidden tears. I will not cry in front of him.

I unzip my bag and empty the dirty clothes onto the bed. I should set the pad thai down to make this easier, but it feels like my anchor to sanity. I walk to the closet and grab things. I don’t know what I’m stuffing one-handed into my backpack, but I hope some of it is actually wearable.

Jason is dressed in his boxers now, a pleading look pinching the space between his brows. “Don’t go. We can work this out.”

My heart is pounding against my ribs, threatening to jump out and get retribution for how hard it’s breaking. “Is Alexis going to stay and work it out, too?”

“No, she’s…” He sighs. “I was just lonely, and she was here.”

“That makes it so much better,” I snap, my voice a low growl.

“You’re never here,” he shouts.

“Because I’m working to take care of us!”

The pad thai bag crinkles in my clenched fist.

Jason’s face takes on an unnatural calm. “If it was about taking care of me, you would’ve sold your business by now. You’ve gotten enough offers. You’re just obsessed with work.”

I want to tell him that I did sell my business. That I’m home early with celebratory Thai food because I wanted to surprise him with the news.

And now, I want to throw it in his face so much . The food, too.

I zip my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Eight PM, Jason. Be gone, or I’ll call the cops.”

He follows after me, shouting variations of my name and pet names, but I tune him out. Alexis stirs on the ground as I walk by, rubbing the back of her head with a groan.

“I emailed you the expense report for changing my flight,” I say to her. “Guess you didn’t get it in time.”

She wraps an arm over her chest as tears stream down her face. Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t say anything. The sight of her tears threatens to unleash mine, so I turn away and snatch my keys from the end table.

“Eight PM, Jason!” I yell into the apartment before slamming the door.

What if he comes after me? Chases me down the hall and corners me in the elevator? What if he keeps talking and I give in, letting him worm back into my heart?

I run for the stairs, not giving a shit if it’s seven flights. I just need to move, get all this out of me and get away from him. Get away from my stupidity. How long have they been doing this? How blind could I have been?

The door to the lobby swings open and I take off into the warm, humid streets. My legs keep pumping as my mind, now a vacant, hollow place, checks out completely. I get on the subway, and get off, trudging up the steps to…

My office.

Am I obsessed with work?

I use my key fob to get into the tall, black building and walk toward the elevator. The lobby is manned by a security guard who greets me by name. I give him a nod, keeping my face curtained by my straightened dark hair.

The elevator smells like cleaning product. It wars with the scent of my cooling pad thai. Scenes of Jason and Alexis play in my mind despite myself. All the things I could’ve done. All the things I should’ve done. I wish I would’ve screamed. I wish I would’ve hurt him as much as he hurt me.

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it back. Not yet. There are cameras in the elevator. No need for anyone to see this.

The doors open to my floor and I walk down the hall to my suite. “Cunning Consultants” glints back at me from the silver placard on the dark wood door. I flick the lights on and walk through the colorful office space. Desks adorned with personal effects are all empty, as they should be, because I insist on a good work-life balance for my employees.

My former employees.

Maybe I should’ve insisted on a good work-life balance for myself, too. Maybe Jason wouldn’t have fucked my assistant.

The door to my office is ajar and there’s a black box on the desk emblazoned with the crest of the man who bought my business. I set the pad thai down and sling my backpack under the desk, then flop into my chair.

Trembling weakness in my arms makes it hard to move, but I flip open the lid of the tall box and look inside. There’s a folded note on top with a metallic wax seal. Underneath is a bottle of golden whisky and a fancy set of tumblers. I pull it all out and set it on the table.

The wax seal crackles as I snap it off the letter and a thrilling sensation tingles up my arm.

Weird.

Inside the fancy paper is just four words and a fancy signature.

To the next adventure.

~C. Montey

Images of Jason and I finding a nice home in Atlanta, of him really getting into the modern art scene and starting a gallery, of me in a garden with fresh fruits and vegetables, relaxing for the first time in too long, fade away, replaced with black nothingness.

My future is a sucking void, threatening to swallow me up.

I pop the top on the amber liquor and pour myself a glass. My struggle ducky, Charlie, glares at me with disapproval from below my monitor.

“Drinking in the office. I know,” I say to the little yellow duck who’s helped me talk through so many problems. “But it’s after hours. And also, no one is here to see me.”

So it’s okay to break the rules if no one can see you? Charlie’s little ducky voice quacks in my mind and I scowl.

“I don’t need a conscience right now, Charlie. I need a friend. Shut up about the booze and help me solve my future.”

I toss back the drink and relish the burn. Feeling something, anything, is better.

“Whoo!” I shout, slamming the tumbler down. “Here, you have some,” I say, pouring Charlie a portion, knowing full well that a rubber duck cannot drink.

I push the glass toward him. “Okay, what am I going to do?”

What do you want to do?

I take a smaller sip of my drink, savoring it. Mr. Montey sure knows how to pick them. It’s smooth, slightly sweet, rich with malty flavor and a woody finish that burns through my chest. I sink deeper into my chair and stare at Charlie.

“I want to relax. I’ve worked so hard the last ten years, and the eight before that weren’t easy, either. I’ve been go-go-go since the second I graduated high school. Since the second I got into high school. Since…”

I take another drink. Even if it’s just talking to an inanimate object, it makes me feel a little lighter.

You know you don’t vacation well. You’ll crave something to do. You can’t just escape to the Bahamas and live happily ever after. You’ll need a project, a timeline, something to pour yourself into and give it life.

“I know,” I say, filling my glass again.

Eat something.

“Yeah, yeah.” I grab the bag of takeout and remove the top box of noodles. I break the chopsticks and dig in. Miraculously, it’s still warm. The gooey, sweet and spicy sauce with the perfect tang of lime and little crunches of peanut fires more memories. My throat tightens as I look at the box of noodles, and a tear slides down my cheek.

This was our favorite food.

Now it’s mine. I claim it.

I hope every time he looks at pad thai he gets a stomachache.

I slurp up another few bites, and then return to my liquor. “Okay, so I can’t just fuck off to some island and survive on my equity. If I don’t want to pay out the ass in taxes, I’ll need to funnel a good portion of the proceeds into another venture this year.”

Why don’t you pull up the Business Brokers site and have a look around?

“Good thinking, Charlie,” I say, clinking his untouched glass.

I boot up my computer and open the site. I scroll through the list of liquor stores, restaurants, and physical therapy offices without feeling a single twinge of interest. I don’t have any culinary prowess—though I’ve helped restaurant owners before—and I don’t want to touch medical with a thousand-foot pole. A liquor store would be easy to hire out to someone else and just watch over, but I don’t want easy. I want something to work on.

Try searching for keywords like “relax” and stuff.

I type “relax” into the search bar.

I scroll through spas, nail salons, massage parlors, and more until a dark image makes me stop. It’s hard to see any details, but it looks like the building is coming right out of a mountain…

I take another drink and click on the listing.

~~~

Relaxing Hot Spring in Colorful Colorado!

Set directly into the Silver Mountains with several adjoining buildings, this unbelievable resort sits at the far end of Grizzlywood Springs, Colorado, a burgeoning town with so much potential. Thousands of travelers come to Grizzlywood Springs for skiing, hiking, biking—

“Blah, blah, blah,” I groan, scrolling through the blither.

Asking Price: $650,000

Cash Flow est. 2002: $45,000

Gross Revenue est. 2002: $820,000

Building Sq. Ft.: ~15,000

Employees: 0

This abandoned natural hot spring is just the fixer-upper project you’re looking for, so place a bid now!

~~~

“Abandoned hot spring…” I mumble, tonguing my empty glass.

Think of how nice it’ll be to wake up, take a long soak, walk to the office in a bathrobe and slippers, check on appointments…

“Hmm, but it’s been abandoned for over twenty years,” I say, filling my glass and spilling some on the desk. I suck the drops up—my desk is probably clean enough for that—and wipe the spot with my pad thai napkin. “That’s a lot of work.”

Yes! Think of how much effort it will take! The long hours, the learning curve, negotiating with contractors, hiring staff, learning about all the dos and don’ts of a resort. There’s so much to do!

I glare at the duck. “Are you just trying to distract me from my cheating ex?”

Yes.

I pour some of his liquor into my cup and clink his glass again. “Good duck.”

Why work through your emotions when you can work on this hot spring?

“Exactly.” I nod my head bobbily. “I doubt I’d even get it if I placed a bid. It’s only been up for a day. It’s not going to just go for the asking price…”

My finger hovers over the left-click, mouse cursor poised on “Place Bid.”

“Talk me out of it, Charlie,” I say, glancing at the ducky as I come up with a big list of pros and cons.

Colorado is good and far away from both Atlanta and New York, so there’s no chance of running into Jason or Alexis.

You’ll be isolated coming into a small town as an outsider, but it’s also a fresh start. No one will know you.

Closer to Mom…not sure if that’s a pro or con. Both, I guess.

Colorado is pretty.

Hot spring sounds pretty dang nice. I could go for a dip right now.

I swallow down the rest of my drink and flap my lips.

“Fuck it, why not.”

A sharp sound jerks me upward. I glance around, mouth dry from liquor and sweet from noodles. My head is pounding. I push my chair back and glare at Charlie, whose glass is empty, too.

“You damn duck, got me drunk,” I mumble.

I grab my pack and stumble to the break room. The water from the standing cooler is fresh and quenches the ache in my throat. I guzzle back as much as will fit in my stomach and then find my toothbrush. The mint clashes with my mistakes and I stare at the wall as tears burn behind my eyes.

I worked too much. I was never home. I didn’t care enough about his art. I was too driven to succeed in my own ventures. I didn’t love him enough.

A silent sob tightens my throat and hot tears streak my cheeks.

No matter how much time you spent at work, no matter how often you were gone, that does not excuse what he did. You don’t deserve this.

I spit into the sink and let myself cry, loud and pathetic-like. After a few minutes, I’m dried up. Either because I’m actually dehydrated, or I’m just too exhausted. I wash up and go back to my office.

There’s a red “5” icon hanging over my email when my computer wakes from sleep. I open my inbox and my stomach bottoms out as I recall my hazy, whisky-fueled decision.

Congratulations, Hot Spring Owner!