You’d only agreed because you had nothing better to do, but it’s already so late, you’d hate to cancel now.
So you do what you always do: try to make other people happy.
Mr. Hot Book Guy gets up, looming over your shoulder like a dark cloud as you form your reply.
“Excuse me,” you say dryly as you text back in a hurry, clicking off the screen. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to read over other people’s shoulders?”
But when you glance back at Mr. Mysterious Hot Guy, he’s just staring.
And staring.
That’s when it hits you—he practically time-traveled here from the 1800s.
This is his first time seeing a cell phone.
Or, at least, you assume that’s why he won’t take his eyes off it. It’s probably some demonic-magical crazy thing to him.
That’s the conclusion that would make sense.
But he just folds his arms, eyes flashing.
“Who is taking youwhereexactly? Do you know this guy?”
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
Is he being…protective?
Oh, right. The spell—or whatever that is. The thing in the book. Maybe it’s the magic of the book, forcing him to protect you.
He doesn’t actually care about you. He can’t possibly. After all, he doesn’t even know you.
So there’s no reason to think anything of the protective edge to his question.
Right?
8
The Hot Guy’s Night Before
Mysterious Hot Guy
—The Night Before—
I still can’t believe she let me in.
Andshe’s taking a shower. It would be so easy for me to walk in on her—a pathetic little lock is no match for me.
She’s just lucky I’m a gentleman.
Shower. Microwave. Wi-fi.
Words keep appearing in my mind one after another; unfamiliar words for things I’ve never heard of. Explanations materialize with each new one.
Internet.Phone.
Why is there so much to learn!?
