Monster - A. Lee Martinez [8]
She did it on purpose. She was slowly odorizing his wardrobe, marking her territory.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Yeti,” he replied through a mouthful of spaghetti.
She nodded to herself, thumbing through the magazine.
He finished his dinner in silence. Then he tried to slip off to bed unmolested, but when he came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, she was waiting for him. There was a time when the promise of her carnal pleasures would’ve filled him with glee. Back then she would’ve been naked and oiled up and ready for action. Now she was still wearing his T-shirt and reading her magazine.
Liz’s succubus nature meant that regular sex was necessary to keep her from getting cranky, but that didn’t mean she necessarily enjoyed it. There were plenty of times when she wasn’t interested in it except as a bit of exercise. And those times were more and more common lately. Maybe he wasn’t a great lover, but she could’ve had the decency to fake some passion. Hell, she was a succubus. Wasn’t that her job?
He went to the bed and lay down beside her. “I don’t really feel like it tonight, baby,” he said.
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. It never takes long.”
He was too tired to be insulted. “Our contract specifically says intimate relations are to be supplied on a daily basis.”
Monster didn’t need to be reminded. When he’d signed the contract, he’d found special promise in that particular clause. He’d assumed it was meant to bind her. Now he knew better.
“I don’t know if I can even—”
It was a weak attempt. Among Liz’s supernatural talents was the ability to give a man an erection by her willpower alone. He could’ve been strapped to a bed of nails while mongooses chewed on his face. It wouldn’t have made a difference. All she had to do was wave her index finger in a small circle and upward motion toward his groin and he would snap to attention.
Liz pulled his pajama bottoms down to his ankles without ceremony and climbed atop him. He made a halfhearted attempt to fondle her breasts but didn’t even have the motivation to reach under the T-shirt. She kept reading her magazine the whole time. Monster occupied himself by scanning the articles titles on the cover. He was guessing she hadn’t gotten to “Old Flames: Keeping the Spark” yet.
When she was finished, she got up and left the bedroom without so much as a “Thanks.” Monster pulled his pajamas up and covered his head as the dawn light filtered through the curtains.
3
The red cat was at their door again.
Rob didn’t like cats. He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t see why people kept them around. He also had the same puzzlement over dogs, snakes, hamsters, fish, and children. Spouses occupied a sort of subcategorization in his universe. Sometimes useful, but mostly a bother.
Over thirty years, Rob and Evelyn had developed an encyclopedia of unspoken communication. It was through this vast network of signals that their marriage endured—thrived—in a comforting familiarity and reassuring silences. The system had worked because they’d both come to conclusion that they really didn’t like each other. The truth was that neither of them was very likable. They could be pleasant, polite, helpful. But they weren’t charismatic or endearing, and a divorce and new marriage would only lead to the same place they were already at.
Everything had been going swimmingly these last twenty-seven years. Then the old lady had moved in next door, and now