Page 30

After we clear, clean, and put away the dishes, I’m not ready to say goodnight.

But the spell tying us together, and one good romp in the garden, do not entitle Randy to my bed.

"Sleep well," I say, but as I turn, he gently pulls me back.

One pale, freckled hand grazes my cheek, and he leans forward, breath ghosting over my lips, giving me the chance to retreat.

I don't.

Instead, I close the distance and meet his mouth. The kiss is hot and sloppy. Our tongues meet, and his hand slides to my hair, pulling lightly. I grasp his hips and drag him flush with me, feeling his hardening length press into my soft stomach.

After a few moments, I break the kiss, and he lets me go.

"Goodnight, Will."

I manage to walk all the way up the stairs and close the door to my room before letting out a tiny, undignified whoop.

The deep chuckle from downstairs tells me that I’m not stealthy.

Randy

I'm settling onto the couch, ready for another night. Morty curls up on my chest, and thoughts of Will fill all the space in my brain. I close my eyes, hoping they'll follow me into sleep.

My ears start to itch. First at the points, then farther down. I scratch at them. Morty lets out a small, disgruntled growl at the movement.

But it spreads.

My neck, face, and arms.

"Not again!" Will yells from upstairs.

I hop up, which causes Morty to hiss and spring to the top of one of Will's shelves while I bound up the stairs.

"Will!" I knock on his door. "Will, can I come in?"

"Yes! Oh Lord, it itches."

I open the door to find Will sitting up in bed, his sleep clothes rumpled as he scratches everywhere he can reach. I can't stop either, but I am fairly confident of the cause.

I rush to the side of the bed and take Will's hand in mine.

The itching stops.

"Why," Will pants, "does that keep happening?"

I rub my hand over my face. "The spell. This must be the escalation Laz was talking about."

He stares. "So what? We're going to itch all the time?"

It's not funny, but the indignation in his voice makes me crack anyway.

"Stop smiling. I'm serious." He half scolds me, but there's a grin tugging at his lips too.

"It was about twenty minutes," I mutter to myself. "From the time you went upstairs until my ears started itching."

"So we can't be more than thirty feet from each other, and we have to touch every twenty minutes. How the hell are we going to sleep?" he asks.

Both of us have the decency to blush, which is ridiculous since his cock was between my lips hours ago. Still, sleeping together—actually snoring, kicking, and hogging the blankets—is its own strange kind of intimacy.