6. Inviting the Hot Guy Inside
6
Inviting the Hot Guy Inside
Mysterious Hot Guy
She gazes up at me with wide eyes, so innocent and easy to mess with.
I’m not expecting her to say ‘yes’.
There’s no way. Even an innocent little human like this wouldn’t be that naive. She wouldn’t invite a strange man into her home late at night.
She doesn’t know the first thing about me.
I could be planning to do despicable things to her as soon as she lets me in that door.
But she just smiles sweetly.
“I guess I should,” she says, glancing away like she’s shy. And that only makes me want to push further. I love the way her blush deepens as I lean closer, until there’s only inches between us.
I really could kiss her.
That thought hits me like a shock—what the hell am I doing, wanting to kiss a weak little human?
I pull back, folding my arms.
Of all the humans to get myself tied to, I’m stuck with this one. She clearly doesn’t know the first thing about magic or monsters.
If she did, she’d never consider letting me in.
But she just blushes deeper and glances away as she unlocks the door. “Okay. Come on in, Mr. Magical Book Guy.”
I let out a low laugh as it clicks shut behind us. A laugh that probably sounds more sinister than I intend.
I’m not sure she hears me as I mutter, “ You’re lucky I’m a gentleman .”
You
Why do you get the feeling you just made a terrible mistake?
You click the light on in your tiny studio apartment, which has always felt small, but suddenly feels a lot smaller with Mysterious Hot Book Guy looming there in the entryway beside you.
Still clutching that little black book, you carry it over to the bookshelf across the room and set it down for safekeeping.
Mr. Mysterious Hot Guy is just standing in the entryway, surveying the place like he’s never seen anything like it.
And maybe he hasn’t.
“Hey,” you ask. “What year exactly did you get locked away in the book?”
He tilts his head, gazing into space like he’s trying to remember.
“Eighteen-something. I forget. It didn’t seem important at the time.”
“The year wasn’t important?”
“A year or ten, what’s the difference?” he says, snapping his fingers. “But you humans have such brief lives, you count every second like it’s your last.”
“Alright,” you say, steadying yourself. This is all starting to feel surreal. Even more than before. “And just how long is your life?”
He shrugs. “How many grains of sand are on the beach?”
“Uh, a lot.”
“Exactly.”
“Wow. Okay, wow. So you’re immortal?”
He shrugs. “Give or take.”
Whatever that ’s supposed to mean.
Maybe that means he can still be killed, but he doesn’t want to say it.
Either way, this definitely feels like a weird dream now. You still can’t believe you’re magically connected to a mysterious dude who came out of a book.
You don’t even know his name.
And now he’s here in your apartment.
“Wait—” An icy realization shoots down your spine. “Are you, like, a vampire or something?”
He laughs again, low and slightly evil.
You blink and he’s in front of you. Grabbing your wrists in one hand, he pins your back to the wall as he tilts your chin up.
“Why?” He murmurs, running the points of his teeth along the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. “Would you regret letting me in if I said yes?”
They’re sharp.
His teeth are sharp.
“You really are—” You draw a surprised breath, torn between excitement and terror. “You’re a vampire!”
But he only laughs again, letting go.
“You’re too gullible,” he says. “I’ve never cared for the taste of blood.”
Never cared for it .
As in, he’s tried it?!
You shiver.
The room feels suddenly cold without his hands against your wrists, but he walks away, dropping into the upholstered chair in the corner across from your bed and slinging one leg over the armrest.
Like he owns the place.
Meanwhile, your brain is still busy catching up with what just happened. It’s late. You’re exhausted. And a strange, handsome man just pinned you to your bedroom wall—well, it’s also your living room wall, seeing as it’s a studio apartment. But the point remains.
You’ll probably go to sleep and wake up to discover this has all been a weird dream.
Pity .
Because a part of you might actually miss Mr. Mysterious Hot Guy.
Speaking of.
He’s the kind of dark handsome the ladies in your online book club would absolutely use as a model for their character moodboards. And you were too busy trying not to die to notice what he’s wearing out there in the dark alley, but he’s got on a plain white t-shirt and black pants. It didn’t seem odd at the time.
But now that you know he was trapped in that book since the 1800s—
“Question.” You hold up your hand and ask, “How did you get modern clothes if you’ve been stuck inside that book for a couple centuries?”
“This?” Mysterious Hot Book Dude leans forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it up to examine it closer.
Holy mother of abs, Batman!
Did he just work out for two centuries straight!?
He must have.
But he’s too busy staring down at his shirt and pants to notice you blushing again. At least there’s that.
“ Strange taste ,” he mutters before finally letting the shirt drop back down over his chiseled stomach. “But the answer is obvious: This is your doing. You put me in this get-up.”
“Me!?” You balk, taking a step back, nearly toppling your bookshelf and spilling all the poor, innocent, salacious romance novels waiting for their chance to be read. “I did no such thing.”
It’s just not possible. You only wished for a hot, magical book boyfriend to save you. That’s all.
“I didn’t dress you.”
“Sure you did,” he says, dropping his feet back to the floor as he sits up taller. “You’re the one who broke the spell that locked me in that forsaken book.” He stands up, and you gulp as he towers over you once again.
Why the heck is he so tall!?
He grins, pushing you back against the wall.
He seems to have a hobby of doing that, and even though it makes no sense, a part of you kind of likes it.
That settles it: Your survival instinct must be broken.
Please pin me against the wall some more, Mr. Strange Hot Guy .
Yep, definitely broken.
“Now that you mention it,” he says with a growing smirk. “I seem to remember hearing you wish for a hot book boyfriend to save you.”
Ohhhhh, crap.
He heard your wish!?!?
“It was just a dumb wish!” You insist, “It doesn’t mean anything!”
But he’s not listening.
“I’ve already saved you,” he says with a low chuckle. The low rumble of his voice shivers across your ear as he growls, “So that means, according to your wish, I must be your hot book boyfriend. ”
Someone grab the fire extinguisher, because your face is burning up.
“No, no,” you protest. “That’s not what that means—it’s—”
“Yes?” He asks, a self-satisfied smugness ringing in his voice, like he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. “ Go on .”
Words.
Why are words so hard!?
“Wait!” A sudden realization hits you. One that drowns quite a bit of the fire burning through you as you try to pull away. “Does that mean you don’t actually look like this?’
Not to be totally shallow or anything.
But what if he’s secretly a terrifying monster, like the one that attacked you in the alley?
He steps back, as if taking your fear as a cue. And that’s probably a good sign. He was content to play along while you were blushing, but now that you’re genuinely concerned, he’s dialed it back.
Which, of course, only makes you blush again. Why’s he gotta be so perceptive? He’s checking way too many boxes on the hotness scale.
Okay, so maybe he’s secretly a monster. He could even be a fae, like the dangerous ones in the books you like to read. And if so, he has a very handsome glamour.
That has to count for something, right?
“Let me guess,” he says, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth as his eyes flash momentarily golden. “You think I’m secretly a terrifying monster. And my handsome face is a disguise to lure in innocent young maidens such as yourself.”
“Yes! Wait—no. No, hang on. I wasn’t thinking the part about your handsome face. Or it being a disguise to lure in maidens.”
“But you’ll agree that my face is handsome.”
“I, well. Yes. But—”
“Aha! I knew it.” He grins like he’s just won a prize. “Human women can’t resist my face.”
Now he’s just getting annoying.
You fold your arms, stepping back.
“Well, somebody sure is confident for a guy who’s been out of the dating game for two centuries.”
Why does the thought of him dating other women bother you so much? But it does. Irritation creeps up your arms, heat racing through your heart.
You liked it better when he was just talking about you.
How many other women has he dated?
Wait . Not other . Because he’s not actually your boyfriend.
It’s just late. And your brain is tired.
“Don’t tell me,” Hot Guy says, his smirk growing as he narrows his eyes at you. “You’re jealous.”
He’s way too good at this.
“I am not.” You turn away before he can argue, grabbing your pajamas off the edge of your bed and heading for the bathroom to shower and change.
A shower is exactly what you need to clear your head.
You shut the door, making sure to lock it. Not that a flimsy lock would stop a hot magical dude. But it’s the principle of it.
Everything feels better as soon as the hot water washes over your skin. Showers are basically their own kind of magic.
Plus, you finally get a chance to clean the wound on your arm, which was starting to hurt something fierce.
By the time you get out, you’re feeling much refreshed considering the late hour.
All that’s left is to get dressed.
Holding up your tiny pajama set, you wonder what you were thinking.
You’ve never actually worn these pajamas in front of another person before, and you shake your head at your reflection once you put them on. What on Earth possessed you to buy these in the first place!?
It’s a cute little black-and-white crop top and shorts set covered in panda bear print. Yep. Panda bears. Complete with a panda bear face staring out from the top, two great big eyes printed smack across your chest.
Look at me! Look here! That’s basically what it screams.
Oops.
For a moment, you debate about changing back into your dirty work clothes, but that thought is just too gross. Not worth it. Not after you finally got the hot shower you’d been waiting for all night.
So you summon all your confidence, pretend what you’re wearing is totally normal, and waltz out the bathroom door.