Her face does a weird thing. “A porch is not a witch thing. It's just…a thing people have?”
“All the witches I knew had porches,” I mutter, turning back to Brandon.
“Is that so? And how many other witches have you had the pleasure of meeting?”
The corner of my mouth tips up as I slowly face her. “Jealous, little witch? Don't worry, it's a good look on you.” My gaze drags down her body, then back to her eyes. “As is that dress.”
“Are you flirting with me, sir, or dealing with the poor excuse for a date on my front stoop?”
I cross my arms and tilt my head. “Who says I can't do both?”
She sputters again, a lovely pink blush splashing across her cheeks. She presses her lips together and glares at me, then shoos me around. My nostrils flare as I pick up her scent. It's tinged with something I've never smelled before, though I can't place it. Shaking my head, I force myself to turn away from her and address the real problem. After I've dealt with the asshat, I'll go back to Hell and pretend I never started flirting with her.
“Well, Brandon, why are you still here?” I snap.
He pushes to his feet and throws his shoulders back. “Who are you? And why did you call her a witch?”
I step closer and he leans back, fear flashing in his watery eyes. “You come near her again and I'll drag you to Hell myself. Got it?”
I let the illusion I've masked my features with drop just enough for him to see my true form. He stumbles away and trips over his feet. I let out a chuckle as he spins, then sprints down the tree-lined lane. I turn and kick the door shut. Good fucking riddance. What the fuck was she thinking going on a date with a man like that? I'm pretty sure he pissed himself before he ran.
“What'd you say to him? What'd you do?” She tugs one of the straps on her dress up, and I narrow my gaze.
“What's wrong with your dress?”
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing. I couldn't get the zipper down. Now answer the question.”
“I just told him to leave.”
She gives me a look. “He looked like he was about to shit his pants, which granted, he deserved, but still. What'd you do?”
I rub my jaw, wondering how much I should reveal. I don't want her thinking she should summon me every time she has a shitty date. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. The alternative is she means more to me than she should. I just need to get out of here. The sooner I get back to Hell, the better I'll feel. My nap, if you could call it that, wasn't nearly long enough.
“I showed him what you see. To a human, I'm sure it's a bit disconcerting. Why don't you have protection spells?”
“I do. Which is why I was surprised when he could knock on my door. If he had ill intent, he wouldn't be able to get within five feet. I don't know what happened.”
“Perhaps he didn't have ill intent,” I murmur.
“I mean, he probably didn't think he was being an asshole.” She sighs and her eyes meet mine. “Will you help me get out of this dress?”
I grit my teeth and nod, not trusting my voice. She makes her way toward the bedroom and I follow, trying to keep my eyes off the small strip of skin she's managed to expose.
“What happened on your date?” I growl.
She waves her hand, dismissing my question. “Our…principles didn't align.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Well, I wanted to get to know him and he wanted someone to do his laundry.”
“Why would you want—never mind.” I shouldn't delve into her dating life or care whether she's seeing someone.
She gathers up her hair and lifts it off her neck as she presents her back to me. I yank the zipper down, but the fabric bunches. She shivers when my fingers touch her skin to hold the top, then tug on the zipper again. I drop my hands as soon as she's free. I should leave now. Except with the way her shoulders slump, I can't bring myself to.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gruffly.
“No, I'm fine.” She shuffles into the bathroom and pushes the door shut.
