"Well, that was an exhausting LSD fueled field trip that broke my noggin," I say, dizzy from defying the laws of gravity for three hours. "So that's Hell's true form?"
It's only 11:00 AM, and we are at the local bubble tea shop. I have bitter melon with tapioca pearls. Lucifer is eating bingsoo he "said" he would share, but it appears the shaved ice and strawberries belong to that note alone. Ink is on his 9 AM shadow of blonde red stubble, leaking from a fountain pen, and he's scribbling notes in his "autobiography."
"Read your manhuas Shannon. I'm busy."
I grumble, scrolling on my phone. I'm reading "Dead Sexy," the romance novel turned manhua Rosanna got me addicted to.
Lucifer snatches my phone.
"Hey!"
"I gotta google a word – what is this, a sexy zombie billionaire CEO romance? Who WRITES this crap?"
"People like Rosanna."
"Who READS THIS CRAP."
"People like me."
