“I’m sorry,” I offer, but I don’t know what he wants me to do.
“Diem!” Cohen calls out. “Diem!” he demands a second time after nothing happens.
He sighs, looking around the kitchen, his eyes suddenly so lost and sad.
“Her name is Colby,” I tell him, hoping it can be the lifeline he’s clearly in desperate need of. “Colby Trapetti,” I repeat, and he starts writing the name down. “I’m not sure where she’s living right now. The last I saw her, she was working for the Order in Chicago. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if she quit the day I spoke to her,” I add. “Oh, and she sometimes shortens her last name to Trapet,” I tell him, and his pen stills on the paper.
“Trapetti as in the Trapetti Coven?” he asks, his voice suddenly dark and filled with all kinds of preconceived notions.
I narrow my gaze at him, suddenly feeling very defensive on Colby’s behalf. “Yes, but before you go jumping off the deep end into your judgmental thoughts, Colby doesn’t have fuck all to do with her family, and their sins are not hers. Make sure you understand that before you go looking her up. You of all people should know that you can’t pick your family,” I tell him, offering him a pointed look.
I don’t know much about this guy other than he’s Rogan and Elon’s cousin, he made Tad feel damsely, and that he’s the older version of the boy I saw in a vision. The vision was of him and Rogan sneaking out of the house to go fishing when they were kids, then I saw them getting in a fist fight when they were older. I don’t know why I saw any of these things. It happened when Rogan and I first used our magic together, so I blame that. I debate giving Cohen theyou will rue the dayspeech to really hammer thedon’t fuck with Colbypoint home, but decide against it.
Footsteps making their way down the stairs reach me, and I turn to find Rogan is up and striding toward me. The steel in my eyes softens as I take him in, and he gives me a slow sensual smile.
“Hey,” he offers me in greeting before dropping a soft kiss to my lips.
“Hey,” I tell him back, stealing another peck before he pulls away.
“Everything okay?” he asks, looking from me to Cohen and back again.
“Totally,” I chirp. “We’re just talking about ghosts and how it’s bad to judge a book by its cover,” I tell him cryptically.
Rogan snorts. “I never got that saying, everyone judges a book by its cover. It’s normal.”
“Agreed,” Cohen adds, shooting me a pointed look.
“Fine, that’s not the right comparison anyway. Don’t judge a book by itstitleis probably more accurate. You may think you know what you’re going to get with a certain title, but you’d be wrong,” I announce, throwing that pointed look Cohen just gave me right back at him.
“It sounds like you’ve been spending too much time at the bookstore,” Rogan teases, and I scoff in dramatic outrage.
“There is no such thing as spendingtoo much timeat a bookstore. How dare you, sir!”
Rogan laughs and looks from me to the empty cup in my hand. “Ah, I know what’s going on here: you haven’t been properly caffeinated this morning,” he declares as though he’s figured out a great mystery. “The coffee maker giving you trouble?”
“Bitches, man,” I declare on a huff, and he chuckles and takes the mug from me.
“I got it,” he reassures me with a wink that threatens to make my panties melt right then and there.
“And this is why I love you,” I coo, which earns me a deeper laugh.
“The only reason?” he challenges with a raised brow.
“That thing you do with your tongue is cool too, I guess,” I counter casually, punctuating it with a disinterested shrug.
Rogan shakes his head, and I hear Cohen snort before he sits back down at the table and starts typing away on his computer.
“Just cool, I guess,” Rogan grumbles quietly, and then out of nowhere my clit, nipples, vagina, andasshole, all heat up.
They get so hot that I actually think they might melt my underwear. I squeal and start to wiggle, shooting a glare at Rogan, who’s now got a shit-eating grin on his face.
Motherfucking blood magic!
My privates suddenly cool, and I run a finger across my neck in the universal motion of “I’m going to kill you.” Rogan just smiles wider and holds up the empty coffee mug.
Crap.
Well played, Kendrick, well played.
