Now Amanda was smiling at the toe of her golf shoe. “But—” She glanced up at me.
I couldn’t meet her eyes. I got up and walked around the locker room, inspecting the newly cleaned and repainted lockers.
She said, “It would be pretty loud inside. Why would you want it loud inside?”
I wandered over to the big washbasin, which looked like a stainless steel fountain in a waist-high cement basin. Well, waist-high to a normal person. Coed demon sluts run tall. When we moved in, the whole thing was stuck shut with lime deposits and rust and nastiness, like everything else in this place. Now it’s shiny. It’s amazing what money can do.
“If it gets loud in there, it’ll wake me up,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’ll have privacy.”
Amanda’s denseness is a big plus sometimes. She didn’t seem to connect what I was saying with what happened in my room. “What if it doesn’t wake you up?”
I hadn’t thought of that. It rocked my nerves to imagine being inside a small space with my amplified screams and I might still be unable to wake up. I drew a shaky breath. “Then I guess it won’t.”
“Do you want the Cone of Silence to shut off once you do wake up?”
I thought of how long I’d sobbed after I woke up and threw everybody out of my room, sobbed with the pillow jammed over my head in humiliation. “No thanks. Let’s just keep my bedroom, uh, private. All the time.” After all, Reg was in there with me sometimes. I stole a look at her.
Amanda nodded. “I think I can do that.”
I pushed the on-button at the fountain-spout in front of me and watched it spurt flawlessly into action, sending a smooth, wide fan of warm water arching up toward the center of the washbasin. My nerves began to settle and my neck muscles loosened. “Thanks. I’ll pay you whatever.”
“Screw pay. Only if it cuts into the last golf days of the season,” Amanda said, as calm and indifferent as if I’d asked her to pass the salt.
I couldn’t face her. I nodded at the spray of water and then strode out.
The midday meal at the lair of the coed demon sluts was a team effort that day. Reg made sangria. Beth ordered in Ann Sather cinnamon rolls, which even Pog admitted were better than hers, made with both butter and lard, hoo boy so good. Amanda cleared the table and slapped down fresh paper plates and tableware when the litter got too deep.
I had sangria and watched. I was a slave for seven years. I’m done with work.
Pog cooked up a monster frittata with two dozen eggs, crumbled sweet Italian sausage, minced ham, diced Jarlsberg cheese, pineapple chunks, diced red and green pepper, leftover caramelized roasted carrots, and some crunchy fried onion bits because Amanda had bought a case of them at that food service supply store and we were trying to eat them up. There’s only so many crunchy fried onion bits you can eat with beer. That calls for pilsner, and none of us besides Reg like pilsner.
I drank my brunch. Big surprise. “C’mon, c’mon, I need that back rub stat,” I grumbled at Reg, while he loaded flatware into the dishwasher.
“Be right there, mistress,” he said breathlessly. He tied a knot in a big black garbage bag and hoisted it out of the barrel next to the kitchen table. “I only got the two hands.”
“Are you talking back to me?” I said dangerously.
He fitted the new bag into the barrel, sending me a languishing look. “No, mistress.” Multitasking on me.
“Somebody else could do that,” I complained.
“I like to keep it nice for you,” he said. “It’s so clean here.”
We all looked at him with incredulity.
“Oh, leave it,” Pog said, as I’d known she would. “Give her the damn back rub before she expires of old age.”
He sent her a servile look and dropped the bag on the floor. I stalked out, Reg scampering ahead to open the kitchen door for me.
When the kitchen door had swung shut, I stopped in the hall so fast, he bumped into me.
“Sorry, mistress,” he whispered.
I took pity on him. “Go sort my shoes, will you? By color this time.” I wanted to listen at the kitchen door.
I waited for him to go into my room and shut the door. Then I put my fingertips on the wall and stretched my demon hearing, aiming it at the kitchen.
Amanda was telling the others about the spell I had asked for.
Pog said, “Oh, good grief. That’s Jee all over. See a problem, throw money at it or spackle it over.” Thanks, buddy.
“What would you do in her shoes, Pog?” Amanda said.
“She doesn’t want to hear herself screaming?” Beth said. I heard her bustling around the kitchen, probably looking for something to clean that Reg hadn’t got to.
Amanda said, “She doesn’t want us to hear her screaming.”
Beth is clueless. “But why is she screaming?” There are a million unwritten rules about being a succubus, most of them made entirely for our own benefit. Like, don’t pry into other people’s pasts.
“Ask Reg,” Pog suggested. “He’s dumb enough to tattle.”
“Why would he know?” Beth persisted. “He started here the same day I did.”
I rolled my eyes and reminded myself never, ever to tell Beth anything. Reg was not dumb enough to tattle, but Beth?
“Because she wants to tell him, and she doesn’t want to tell you,” Amanda said. So she did get a few things. Amanda doesn’t treat other people like they’re stupid, but you never misunderstand her.
Beth didn’t say anything.
You can get Coed Demon Sluts: Jee now at your favorite ebookstore.
Acknowledgments
Many people have made these books possible. I want to express deep appreciation to my publishing team, Mark Collins and Chaz Brenchley, and for advice from Vonda N. McIntyre, Jeffrey Carver, and Dave Smeds. My heartfelt thanks go out to all my beta readers and supporters, Kate Early, Pat Rice, Mindy Klasky, Sherwood Smith, Angela Johnston, Michelle Hoffman, Kristine Davis, MJ Reynolds, Kimmie Nelson, Roger Jean Fauble, Anne G. Kasaba, Karen Kumprey, Brandee Heller, Shirley K. Lohrricci, Cheryl Liacos-Halstead, Beverlee Smith, the enigmatic lrap1230, Jennifer Hill, Mary Szigeti, Julia Wallace, Linda and Rob Williams, Bari Silver, Loralei Moir, Sue Heneghan, Shirley Márquez Dúlcey, Emily Pennington, Cheryl L., Tammy Brazeau, Evonne Hutton, Anna Trombley, Mary Nickell, Pamela Gramlisch, Silva Presler, Peggy Fowler, Mrs L J Williams, Julianne H., Beth L. Rodriguez, Aimee Bowyer, and Sandra Spilecki.
If I have omitted someone from this list, it is because my sieve-like brain cannot contain the immensity of the world’s kindness and generosity. If I have erred, it is not their fault, but mine alone. If I have offended, then I guess I’m doing my job. If I have entertained, thank goodness.
About the Author
Jennifer Stevenson lives in Chicago with her husband and two cats. She bikes, swims, gardens, attempts yoga, and finds new uses for old sex demons.
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Find out about more Coed Demon Sluts stories on her website.
Coed Demon Sluts: Beth
Coed Demon Sluts: Jee
Coed Demon Sluts: Melitta
Coed Demon Sluts: Amanda
Coed Demon Sluts: Pog
Coed Demon Sluts Omnibus books 1-5
Copyright
COED DEMON SLUTS: BETH
Jennifer Stevenson
Published by Book View Café
www.bookviewcafe.com
Copyright 2017 by Jennifer Stevenson
ISBN 978 1 61138 626 4
All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Cover design by Mark Collins
Horns headband logo design by Mark Collins
Copyedit by Chaz Brenchley<
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.
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