“Sorry, old man,” you mutter, heaving the book at the beast.
But it just bounces off with a dull thud.
Well, crap.
The monster roars back on two legs, slashing wildly. Like you’ve only angered it.
That’s when you remember the thing the old man said about wishes.
You rush to pick the little book up again, clinging desperately to it as you run. But rounding the corner, you realize too late you’ve just trapped yourself into a dead-end alley.
Crap, crap, crap!!!
With no other options, you do possibly the craziest thing you’ve ever done in your life: You clutch the book to your chest, close your eyes, and whisper, “I wish a hot, magical book boyfriend would save me.”
This better work.
At first, nothing happens. Of course it doesn’t.
Then the book starts to grow warm in your hands. Then hot. So hot, it starts to burn.
You jump, dropping the book as its brown paper wrapping singes and crumbles off into ash. The book lands face-open on the pavement, pages fluttering in a sudden breeze.
Only, now the pages aren’t blank. The black paper is covered in an ornate, glowing golden script.
Bright light flashes out from deep within the spine, and a dark shape coalesces from inside the pages.
You stumble back, pressing yourself as far into the corner of the alley as you can. Slowly, the shape solidifies into a man.
And not just any man—avery handsomeman, with messy black hair, chiseled jaw, and flashing eyes. Hot enough that he could totally pass for a book boyfriend.
You freeze.
Is it possible your absurd wish just came true?
A thread of golden light wraps around his left wrist and solidifies into a cuff before flashing out in a long strand and wrapping around yours.
Uh, oh. You glance down at your new, rather unexpected jewelry. Then back at the glowing light tethered between you.
It seems you and Mysterious Hot Guy are now attached.
Mysterious Hot Guy stretches his arms above his head, groaning like he’s just woken from a long nap. He cracks his neck from side to side and his eyes flash golden as the light fades from the book behind him.
Then he laughs—a low, slightly evil sound.
“Finally!” He growls, “I’m finally free!”
But his grin fades when he glances down and notices the glowing, golden cuff on his left wrist.
With a glare, he follows the thread of golden light to where it ends at your hand. You flash him a sheepish smile and give a tentative, awkward little wave.
Oops.
He looks mad.
Hot Magical Guy swears. Then swears again.
“Damn it all,” he mutters. “I should have known.”
