“Welp, I think it’s about time we head back,” Drew says, cutting in. The veggie tray is now empty. “We’ve got some more plans to wrap up at home before we bring all the wood over tomorrow.”
“You ready for all our wood?” Renee asks with a filthy leer.
I groan and shove her arm. “You’re like a twelve-year-old boy.”
“Whaaat?” she whines. “I asked an honest, innocent question.”
“Uh huh,” Drew says as he guides her toward the door. “You two rest up and we’ll see you tomorrow for construction.”
“Yeah,rest,” Renee says as she slips into her boots and zips them up.
“Oh my god, please leave,” I urge, my face about a million degrees.
“See you tomorrow!”
The door slams shut and I turn back to Bastian. He’s looking the other way, his golden scales shimmering on his cheeks.
Friends. Just friends.
Right?
twenty-one
Hot, Bothered, & Dripping Wet
Bastian retreats to his ritual circle to “recharge,” so I get down to business finding my books. I have several email replies from local libraries saying they have books that are too damaged to be checked out anymore. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to repair them all, but at the very least, they can be used to help recharge Bastian, and I can use them as freebies if they’re truly beyond help.
I email a few of the contacts that the libraries provided for me and mill around, doing a few things I really don’tneedto do right now. I know I’m procrastinating from setting up my social media pages. It’s fine for me to share some of the stuff through my binding page, but I need to have a separate business page for the bookstore in the event that it becomes big enough that I need someone else to run the social presence.
Plus, I have a bunch of before pictures I want to share, especially one of Oscar jumping on Bastian’s back—while he’s in human form—as he’s helping Drew align boards for the accessible ramp.
Iamexcited to be sharing the journey. I’m also terrified that no one will care. I can give a shout-out from my bindery page and I’m sure I’ll get a few followers just from that, but it’s going to be dead for a long time.
I sigh out the frustration, the fear of failure, and roll up my sleeves. This is happening. Period.
Time elapses much faster than I’d like before I’ve finished setting up the first two business pages, and the website. Everything is the same temp colors for the moment until I get all of it nailed down—but I really like black, gold, green, and orange. It’s whimsical, vibrant, complimentary, and reminds me of fall. Everyone loves fall. If they don’t, they’re probably an alien.
My gaze catches on the pink rose resting on top of the ritual book, and I remember the stained-glass on the front door. Maybe I should add a little spark of pink in there somewhere, too.
Bastian stands from his circle and groans as he stretches his arms to the sky. His pants shift on his hips, sliding down to reveal the Adonis V leading below his boxers. My mouth waters as my eyes drift over the expanse of his abs and up his torso.
“I’m ready for more translations,” he says, approaching me and the spell book.
I slam my laptop shut in attempt to waft away whatever smell of pheromones might be clinging to me. He doesn’t need to know I was just ogling him.
He leans down beside me to grab the book and stops short. He turns his head to glance at me with a lascivious smirk.
“Are you always aroused, or is it just around me?”
I tsk and push away from the blow-up mattress. “I’ve marked the pages I’d like translated with sticky notes.”
“Please,” he says.
I grit my teeth as I set the laptop on the kitchen counter. “Please translate them or suffer the consequences of warlocks breaking into the shop.”
He follows me. “There are protections in place here already.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound bored but probably failing.
