Nadya’s POV
“Oh, will you stop giving me such a sour damn look!? Christ, I’m not going to rape you, so stop lookin’ at me like I might!”
“Sorry if you don’t get my vote of confidence for being an honest man.” I was curled up on my couch, wearing a new set of pajamas, trying and failing to be okay with a demon in my apartment.
I was wearing a ratty t-shirt with a peeling Scooby-Doo on the front and a pair of fleece bottoms that had gingerbread men running around on them. Cup of hot chocolate in my favorite mug—a simple black cup that said “Blow Me…I’m Hot”—clutched in my palms. My hair curled up into a haphazard bun, that was neither fashionable nor flattering, but very convenient.