Chapter 7
Tuesday evening. That tomorrow. It’d come. Kris stared at his outfit—grey trousers that weren’t jeans that he’d found in the closet, a black button-down that at least fit and didn’t make him look like a boy forced into playing dress-up, no tie because he couldn’t find one and wasn’t sure he owned any—and yelled, “Justin, help!”
His demon emerged from the bathroom. Kris froze. His fingers slipped on a button. The button did not fly off. It was busy staring at Justin too.
Huge eyes, outlined and made even bigger. A bashful smile. That height and that waist, highlighted by the cut of his suit, which drew attention to the shape of him, the lines and curves and elegance. The suit was purple—the twins must’ve meant this one, Kris’s brain remembered foggily—and should’ve looked dread
