Words.
Why are words so hard!?
“Wait!” A sudden realization hits you. One that drowns quite a bit of the fire burning through you as you try to pull away. “Does that mean you don’t actually look like this?’
Not to be totally shallow or anything.
But what if he’s secretly a terrifying monster, like the one that attacked you in the alley?
He steps back, as if taking your fear as a cue. And that’s probably a good sign. He was content to play along while you were blushing, but now that you’re genuinely concerned, he’s dialed it back.
Which, of course, only makes you blush again. Why’s he gotta be so perceptive? He’s checking way too many boxes on the hotness scale.
Okay, so maybe he’s secretly a monster. He could even be a fae, like the dangerous ones in the books you like to read. And if so, he has a very handsome glamour.
That has to count for something, right?
“Let me guess,” he says, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth as his eyes flash momentarily golden. “You thinkI’m secretly a terrifying monster. And my handsome face is a disguise to lure in innocent young maidens such as yourself.”
“Yes! Wait—no. No, hang on. I wasn’t thinking the part about your handsome face. Or it being a disguise to lure in maidens.”
“But you’ll agree that my face is handsome.”
“I, well. Yes. But—”
“Aha! I knew it.” He grins like he’s just won a prize. “Human women can’t resist my face.”
Now he’s just getting annoying.
You fold your arms, stepping back.
“Well, somebody sure is confident for a guy who’s been out of the dating game for two centuries.”
Why does the thought of him dating other women bother you so much? But it does. Irritation creeps up your arms, heat racing through your heart.
You liked it better when he was just talking about you.
How many other women has he dated?
Wait. Notother. Because he’s notactuallyyour boyfriend.
It’s just late. And your brain is tired.
“Don’t tell me,” Hot Guy says, his smirk growing as he narrows his eyes at you. “You’re jealous.”
He’s way too good at this.
“I am not.” You turn away before he can argue, grabbing your pajamas off the edge of your bed and heading for the bathroom to shower and change.
A shower is exactly what you need to clear your head.
You shut the door, making sure to lock it. Not that a flimsy lock would stop a hot magical dude. But it’s the principle of it.
Everything feels better as soon as the hot water washes over your skin. Showers are basically their own kind of magic.
Plus, you finally get a chance to clean the wound on your arm, which was starting to hurt something fierce.
By the time you get out, you’re feeling much refreshed considering the late hour.
