Page 3 of Summoning Mr. Wrong (Hotter than Hell #1)

The bathroom in my apartment was barely large enough to turn around in, with a shower stall, toilet, and sink crammed together like sardines.

I turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up (which would take approximately until the heat death of the universe in this building), and tried to process my new reality.

I have a demon in my apartment. A very attractive demon. Who apparently has to do me a “favor.”

I caught my reflection in the cloudy mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, messy black hair, the perpetual look of someone who’s one minor inconvenience away from a breakdown. Compared to the supernatural Adonis in my kitchen, I looked like something the cat dragged in, then rejected.

The shower finally warmed up, and I stepped in, hoping the water would wash away some of my stress along with yesterday’s grime. I was just working shampoo into my hair when I heard the bathroom door open.

“Occupied!” I yelped, frantically trying to cover myself with my hands despite the shower curtain between us.

“Just need to brush my teeth,” Deus’s voice came from right by the sink. “Cereal leaves a weird aftertaste.”

“You don’t have teeth brush—” I started, then heard the unmistakable sound of my toothbrush being used. “That’s my toothbrush!”

“We’re basically roommates now. What’s a little shared bacteria between friends?”

I groaned and tried to focus on finishing my shower as quickly as possible. The curtain provided minimal privacy, and the knowledge that an actual demon was three feet away while I was naked was doing strange things to my anxiety levels. And other parts of my anatomy.

“So what’s your job?” Deus asked conversationally, as if we were just normal roommates chatting during morning routines.

“Barista,” I answered reluctantly. “At Beans & Books on Maple.”

“Hmm. Making coffee for hipsters. Exciting.”

“It pays the bills. Barely.” I rinsed my hair, careful to keep my back to the curtain. “What do demons do when they’re not being summoned by idiots with TikTok rituals?”

There was a pause. “Depends on the demon. I mostly watch Netflix and judge people’s poor life choices.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “Seriously?”

“The interdimensional planes get boring. You humans are way more entertaining.”

I shut off the water and realized I had a problem. My towel was hanging on the back of the door, unreachable without exposing myself.

“Um,” I said, dripping behind the curtain, “could you hand me my towel?”

“Sure.”

The curtain suddenly pulled back, and I yelped, spinning to face the wall and covering my ass with my hands. Deus stood there, grinning, holding out my towel but making no move to give it to me.

“Dude!” I squeaked.

His eyes made an appreciative journey down my back to where my hands were failing to cover much. “Not bad, Julian. You’re hiding a pretty decent body under those tragic clothes.”

My face burned hotter than the sun. “Towel. Now. Please.”

He chuckled but finally handed it over. I wrapped it around my waist with record speed, my heart pounding like I’d run a marathon.

“Privacy isn’t really a thing for demons,” he said, still standing way too close. “Bodies are just bodies.”

“Well, privacy is very much a thing for me,” I said firmly, sidling past him to escape the bathroom. “So boundaries, please.”

He just smiled, those amber eyes twinkling with mischief. “Whatever you say.”