Seth’s shoulders slump, and he looks miserable enough to make me take some small ounce of pity on him. Maybe we’ve both let nerves and assumptions get in the way.
I sigh and move back to sit across from him at the table as he nods and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied what I did.” He runs a hand over his face and flashes me a stiff, apologetic smile with surprisingly earnest eyes.
The mood is different now; with all the crackling sexual tension extinguished, a truce hangs in the air between us. But years of surviving the Unseelie Court taught me that words are cheap, and this kind of vulnerability is dangerous. With that in mind, I take a second to figure out how to play this. Settling on friendly but cautious, I lick my lips and try again.
“Thank you.”
He smiles at my words, and his blue eyes shine, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. There’s something about him that makes me feel exposed, and it’s as terrifying as it is alluring.
Clearing my throat, I half-whisper, “Tell me about your friend?”
His eyes narrow slightly, and I appreciate the fact that he’s quick enough to sense my purposeful shift. Regret and something like sadness flit through his eyes briefly before he leans forward and grins, “Thank you forchai-ingagain. I know I’m alattehandle.”
Laughter bubbles up before I can think better of it, and I snort—a flush creeping across my cheeks. I shake my head with a quirked brow, “Really?”
He nods sagely, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous joy that makes warmth quickly flood my insides.
This guy is gonna give me whiplash! I let myself relax a little and play with my hair, and his eyes drop to where I’m twirling a flaxen strand around a finger. They quickly slide to my chest, his gaze glowing with undisguised interest. He blinks quickly, and then looks up, and winks when our eyes meet.
Is he flirting with me now? Maybe he is interested? Fuck, he’s confusing.
Sitting a little straighter and smirking, I let my chest stick out a bit more, and my pulse kicks up again. He notices immediately and licks his lips.Gods, he’s so hot.
Opening a mouth that is entirely too kissable, he whispers conspiratorially, “This is the start of a brew-tiful friend-sip.”
Well, fuck. I shake my head and force a smile at his antics, trying to will my body to catch up to the constant mixed signals and the disappointing fact that this date isnotgoing to end with him folding me in a pretzel so tightly that I wear my thighs for ear muffs.Better luck next time, I guess.
2
The Worst, Worst Date Ever
Seth
One Week Later
Ismile tightly at the witch sitting across the table from me at Cuppa Kismet. I’m starting to think this place is some kind of bad omen for my dating life. A pang of longing shoots through me as I think about Ryn, the drop-dead gorgeous necromancer I fumbled miserably the last time I was here. We’ve stayed in touch a bit since, but for the most part, it’s just her laugh reacting my crappy jokes. I swear we had magnetic chemistry, but I let my insecurities get the better of me and practically swallowed my whole-ass leg, with how far I put my foot in my mouth.
She was refreshingly forward, and normally I’m just as quick with heavy flirting and innuendo, but I fucking tanked it. I don’t really know what happened. She’s beautiful, and she made me fuckingnervous. And I wanted more, I think? I over-corrected and went too platonic. The trouble is, now I have no idea how to steer us out of the friend-zone I stuck us in. Or if she’s even interested. Ugh.
Eleanor, the witch I’m currently on a date with, lets out a piercing laugh that sends a sharp pain through my head.Sweet death, her laugh is fucking awful. I’d literally rather listen to people die. My eyes dart around the shop, catching the glares and wide eyes of the other patrons who are probably bemoaning the painful assault to their audio orifices.
“Oh, you’re just too funny!” Eleanor smiles brightly, and I try to relax my tense shoulders.
In all fairness, she is sweet and really pretty. Her chestnut hair falls in ringlets around her shoulders. Her eyes are made bigger by her large circular glasses, which rest just a bit too low on her cute little button nose. She's got that cottage-core style going on, and it suits her. However, I'm fairly confident she’s far too docile for anything between us to ever work. I’m shocked that she seems genuinely interested. Although I am wearing a very attractive glamour. Instead of an exposed skull from the nose up, glowing blue orbs, and skin that swirls with shadow and magic, she sees a handsome Black man with pretty, bright blue eyes.
My mood dips a little knowing that she’d most likely lose all interest if she could really see me. As a witch, she’ll know that I’m wearing a glamour, of course, but they’re fairly common for paranormals in human-friendly spaces. A fissure of guilt slinks through my thoughts with the reminder that I set up this date under false pretenses. Bad enough, I’m pumping her for information—I should have at least been honest about what I am.
All Eleanor knows is that I work for the Guild, which means I’m an undead being of some sort. Ryn had known the whole truth, even if she hadn’t seen the real me. She had known and still desired me.Before I put my foot in my mouth and fucked it up. I rub my chest against an ever-present ache.Fuck. I can’t leave another one of these meetings empty-handed, not when my friends are depending on me. My shoulders set with determination as I focus my gaze on the little witch busily stirring her hot chocolate across from me.
“You’re too kind.” I smile, injecting as much charm as I can. “So, Eleanor, how long have you been with your current coven?”
A pretty blush stains her cheeks and enhances the smattering of freckles on her face. “Oh, since birth. It’s a really great group of gals. I really love gardening.”
“Wow, birth, huh? So, just a little while then.” I smile teasingly, “It’s awesome to find a place you belong and people you can share hobbies with.” I clear my throat and lay it on thick with a conspiratorial inflection as I continue, “I have an old friend who was in your coven a few years back. Maybe you’d have met her?”
“Oh, really? What’s her name? If I don’t recognize it, I’m sure my mom or aunts would!”
“Willa. Willa Wilde.” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice.