I mean. Logistically.
Can they have sex? Have babies?
My stomach dips, a skydiving, free-fall kind of feeling.
I want to ask him, but then…
No.
Absolutely not.
I will not be considering the possibility of having hybrid rabbit children with the magical man sitting in my passenger seat.
I crack the window and gulp down fresh air like it’ll help.
It does not.
“Are you well?” Sorren asks, his tone concerned, and I remember what he said earlier. About how he can hear me. Smell me.
“How about some music?” I practically shout, reaching for the radio. Anything to drown out the mental images my mind is still generating.
The sooner he gets back to Bunnyland, the better.
Chapter five
Hangry
Sorren
“Seriously? One room?” Nora’s voice rises, louder and more irritated by the second. “What is this? A joke? Some rom-com BS?”
The hotel manager she’d called over blinks rapidly. “I assure you, Miss, this is no joke. The hotel is full. Families have come from all over the state for the Golden Egg Hunt tomorrow. It’s the centennial. They have all kinds of special events planned.”
“Yes, yes,” Nora says, waving her hand. “We know all about it. But we need a room withtwobeds. We’d even take doubles.”
The man holds up a plastic keycard. “You’re lucky we have this room. It’s only because the elderly couple who was supposed to have it canceled. Said they’d picked up a cold from their grandkids.”
Nora opens her mouth to argue some more, but I take the keycard from the manager and touch her elbow lightly.
“I think you’re hungry,” I say, steering us away from the desk. The scent of something warm and savory drifts down the hallway. “We haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”
“Why?” she says, swaying slightly as she walks. She drags a hand over her face as if she’s trying to wipe the day off. Her voice comes out thin, like she’s trying to joke but doesn’t have the energy to pull it off. “Do you want a salad, rabbit boy?”
A small smile pulls at my mouth.
“Some lettuce does sound nice,” I reply.
“I bet it does.” Nora rolls her eyes at me.
In my world, no one would dare show such open defiance to a prince.
I find I rather like it.
We round the corner, and I spot the hotel restaurant, which does, indeed, have a salad bar.
Nora’s not wrong.
When I traveled with my father in the past, I loved these quick-service restaurants. They’re predictable. Efficient. Nothing like my home with its elaborate banquet halls and seven-course meals.
