“Right, so I think you should be fine, but the sooner you separate, the better it will be for the both of you.”
“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” I grumble as I wipe water from my face.
“No, you’re not, Len. You didn’t know. I don’t think a lot of witches do. Everyone in the group that day was stunned.He’sthe idiot for putting you in a position where something like this could even happen. That’s on him.”
I sigh and press the buttons that make the shower hotter. I hear a chime ring, and I know it means Tad just got a message. “Pierre?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I can talk to him later, don’t worry about it.”
“No, it’s fine, Tad, I have a bunch of reading and catching up to do tonight anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You sure?” he asks, and I can hear the worry in his tone.
“Of course, go chase that O face,” I cheer and then cringe. “That felt wrong.”
“Yeah, never say something like that again,” he teasingly agrees.
“Love ya, talk to you tomorrow.”
“Love ya, Lennard,” he coos back, and then the line disconnects.
Quickly, I wash the conditioner from my hair and scrub my body clean. I stare down at my wrist, at the swoopingKand the lacy circle surrounding it. Tracing the lines of Rogan’s vow with my eyes, I once again wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I take my time drying my hair and pulling my pajamas on, and then I crawl into the bed and pull the grimoire into my lap. Guess it’s high time I find out.
13
“Listen, coffee maker, I know you think you’re the shit because you’re bougie as hell, but let’s keep it real. You have one job—to make coffee—and, bitch, right now you’re sucking at it. You should be ashamed. What would all the other coffee makers have to say about your attitude?” I growl as I try for the hundredth time to make this damn machine work.
It once again gives me a bunch of lip and then does fuck all. I stare at the bag of coffee beans, debating the merit of skipping the middleman and just eating them. That’ll show this snooty bitch of an espresso maker what’s up. She doesn’t own me. I will prevail.
“Oh hey, you’re up,” Rogan greets from somewhere behind me.
I quickly drop my hands from the triumphant pose I was just making and do my best to look normal.
“Morning,” I sing-song, retreating from my battle with the maker of life blood and casually taking a seat at the island.
“Did you make some coffee?” he asks, taking in the mug cradled in my palms.
“No, because your machine is evil,” I tell him plainly.
He chuckles and plays with the fickle bitch for a moment. Sure enough, he has her singing a different tune in no time. In just a few minutes, where I discover that Rogan has some very attractive barista skills, a latte is slid in front of me. I add some of the fancy vanilla syrup I found in the pantry and take a loud sip from the oversized mug.
“Fuck me, that’s good,” I moan.
Rogan chokes on the sip of coffee he just took. He coughs and hits his chest with a closed fist, and I swirl my java around in the cup in solidarity.
“I thoroughly get why people dog on Starbucks all the time now,” I announce when he finally gets a grip. “How am I ever going to leave, knowing that I can’t reproduce such greatness? It’s not right. I’d take your coffee machine as a parting gift for all the shit you’ve put me through, but she hates me already,” I mock whine, silencing my rant with another blissful sip of heaven.
Rogan shakes his head and looks at me curiously as he once again lifts his mug to his lips. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, and then he takes a quiet, demure sip that I have no respect for.
“Didn’t,” I reply as I practically unhinge my jaw and swallow my cup of coffee whole.
“You...didn’t sleep at all?”
“Nope, but I did get a fuck ton of reading done. Cover to cover. And I would just like to point out that my ancestors were fucking genius. Ask me why,” I encourage, with a wide, excited smile.
I know I have exhaustion to blame for the manic gleam in my eye and the weird golden retriever mode I’m stuck in right now, but I’ve been dying to talk to someone, and the espresso machine is shit at conversation.
Rogan looks hesitant, but he plays along like the nice guy he might be...maybe...the jury is still out on that one. “Why?” he asks.
