The Devil's Assistant

Our Pancakes are so Sexy, They're on Fire

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 Hola! How you guys doin? I FINALLY UPDATED AFTER FOUR MONTHS! :D Isn't that great? Anyways, here's something you NEED to hear! I strongly advise you to RE-READ THE LAST 2 CHAPTERS BECAUSE I COMPLETELY REWROTE THEM! :] So, if you don't read 'em over, you're only going to be confused! Please comment and tell me if you like it, cuz I'm a little rusty :D OKAY, ENJOY! :D

I wake up feeling cold, and it's no wonder. I'm only wearing my strapless bra and underwear, not to mention the wide open window letting in a cool breeze. I sit up in the bed, trying to gather my thoughts. Where am I again? Oh, right. Wait. Adam. I look over to the other side of the bed and see that it's empty. The digital clock next to the bed reads ten o'clock AM. Damn. I've slept in.

      I'm about to get up when Adam pokes his head in through the door.  When he sees me, he grins.

      "You're up," he says. "How did you sleep?" 

      "You seem awfully cheerful for someone who was totally drunk last night," I mutter. I can feel my head pounding and my stomach lurching in response to my hangover as well as the fall I took last night. Or, um, this morning. Adam shrugs.

      "I'm used to it, I guess. We do that every weekend. I'm kind of, like, immune."

      "You guys never do anything different?" I ask with an eyebrow-raise. He shakes his head. "You might want to try it sometime." I stand up and stretch, then look at Adam. When I see what he's holding in his right hand, I squint.

      "What is that?"

      Adam looks down. "Uh, a spatula?" he says in a slow voice, as if I'm in first grade.

      I roll my eyes. "I know that. What are you going to do with it?"

     Adam narrows his eyes, giving me his mock-sexy face. Oh dear. "I'm going to beat you for your crimes," he says, and whacks it against his palm. I pretend to be afraid and jump onto the bed, burrowing underneath the covers.

       "Oh, hell no," he shouts and climbs onto the bed, whacking me with the spatula. I shriek and try to wiggle away. Finally he gives up on the spatula and starts tickling my bare sides, which causes me to scream and giggle at the same time.

      "Please. . . stop. ." I beg. Adam only laughs mercilessly and keeps tickling me.

      "I'll stop on one condition."

      "What?!"

      "You don't make fun of my pancakes."

      At this my head perks up under the covers. Pancakes? "Okay, okay, I won't! I promise!" I say in between giggles. Finally Adam surrenders and climbs off the bed. That's when I notice he's not wearing a shirt. I squint.

      "Adam?"

      "Yeah?" he asks from the door, raising his brow.

      "Did we, uh, do it? I don't really remember. I was, eh, kind of drunk," I say sheepishly.

      Adam laughs. "Yeah, I know. But, uh, no. We didn't do it. Which is probably a good thing considering I could have been arrested if we did." He rolls his eyes.

      I look at him. "How did you--"

      "Your driver's license says your seventeen, which makes you a minor," he tells me. When he sees my look of confusion he adds, "it fell out of your wallet when I was looking in your purse."