Marked (Supernatural) [Rogue Trilogy] {2}

9. Lizardo's Porterhouse

9. Lizardo's Porterhouse

"You know, we do have a place that has actual food," I say.

My brothers and I have found ourselves in a restaurant. Since Dean drove, Sam and I kind of had no choice but to agree to eat here. Not that the food is bad or anything, it just makes me wonder why we did a trip out here.

Dean's scrolling through his phone, stabbing French fries with his fork before popping them into his mouth. I'm messing with my food, not really hungry. Sam's got himself enveloped in a newspaper.

So far, being a demon hasn't been so bad. In fact, I don't feel like I'm one at all. I feel like I've got a handle on this. I don't know what Dean was so worried about.

"What? This?" asks Sam. His eyes are still in the paper. "Um, cattle deaths a few towns over? A demon possibility or something?"

"No, it says right there," says Dean. "It's probably just 'cause of the drought."

"So, what are we doing here?" I ask.

Dean looks at Sam's plate and points to it. "Uh, reason's right on his plate. Lizardo's porterhouse—U.S.D.A. prime. It's the only place between Connecticut and the bunker you can get a decent steak under ten bucks."

I peek at Dean's phone. "Dude, you're blowing up. Who is that?"

"Ah, it's just, you know, these alert thingies."

"For what?"

"You know, monster...stuff."

"All right then." Quick as a whip, I snatch Dean's phone out of his hands. I keep it out of his reach.

"Hey, hey. Uh-uh. Give it back."

"What?" I give Sam a smirk. "Why?"

"Because privacy...And stuff."

"Oh, priv—Sammy, look at this!" I share the sight with Sam. Dean looks like he's about ready to kill me, but I don't care. I snort out laughter. "You're on a dating app? Seriously?"

"Yeah, and you know what? Don't knock it until you try it."

"Nice screen name, Dean," says Sam. "Impala-sixty-seven."

Dean reaches for the phone, which I keep out of his reach. "All right, give it back. Come on."

"Such an original screen name. Shaylene, huh?" I ask curiously, scrolling. "Dean, there are like a million messages here."

"Yeah, uh, check out her pic."

I tilt my head, giving an approving nod. "Um, okay. She's pretty. But..."

"'But,' what?"

"But she seems, um...Kind of...available," Sam chimes in. "Like too available."

"'Oh, baby, whatever you want. I'm burning up just thinking about you,'" I say overdramatically.

"They get raunchier," says Dean.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I—we see that. It's like a, uh—"

"Like a Penthouse letter," Sam finishes for me.

"Yeah. Is that bad?" asks Dean.

"No, it's not bad, Dean," I say. "It's too good to be true."