Chapter Seven #2
“Oh, goddess! Fuck me.” I’m dying a little inside, but Desdemon and Danika are having the time of their fucking lives, cackling like the witches she and I like to call ourselves.
“Alexa! Volume three.” Still laughing… “If you two want dinner without a splash of Deadly Nightshade, then I suggest you forget everything you just heard and come sit down.”
“As you wish, Petite Sorcière.” Desdemon lightly bows his head again, it seems to be his thing. Kind of respectful, kind of old fashioned. But also kind of weird.
His whole suited-and-booted look is at complete odds with his cheeky grin and bright hair, but it works for him.
“You’ve changed the words since last time, babe. Pretty sure there was something about a butt crack…” Danika laughs again as she removes her black leather jacket before throwing it into her bedroom.
“That’s in the third chorus.” Holding my head high, because my embarrassment levels have well surpassed the what’s the point in giving a fuck stage, I take a sip of my near-empty glass of wine and smile triumphantly.
“It was very inventive. I shall remember the new lyrics and be sure to use them next time we are together.” Desdemon’s accent has a small French lilt. It’s faint, but it’s there, giving everything he says a poetic feel to it. Annoyingly so.
His wink brings my attention to his eyes; they’re so dark, they’re almost black, but I’m pretty sure he’s wearing contacts because their coloring is unnatural.
Mr. Perfect probably has shit eyesight, just like his sister.
I can get behind imperfections because I have many.
He’s got to stop winking like that, though.
It’s like he’s trying to flirt with me, and my best friend’s brother is not a place I want to go.
No matter how attractive he is.
The three of us make small talk over the salad and yogurt dip with pita chips.
Then the lasagna comes out and we’re all a fair few glasses into the wine.
I don’t know how, but Danika and I made it through college relatively unscathed by drunken antics.
We can handle our alcohol better than most, but where I’m definitely feeling the effects of tonight’s wine, Desdemon seems completely unaffected.
“Where did you two go today?” I’m halfway through my lasagna and I’m done, I want to save room for dessert. The best part of any meal.
“Just here and there. You know.” Danika shrugs and shoves a forkful of food into her mouth.
“Oh yeah, I know where here and there are.” Sarcasm rings through every syllable, but Danika knows me well enough to understand it’s just who I am and she grins.
“We did a lot of talking and walking. I’m not entirely sure where we went.” She elaborates on her first answer and continues eating.
“I particularly enjoyed seeing the nearby campus, and Willowbrook Park was absolument captivant.” Desdemon rolls his wrist as he speaks…again with the theatrics. It’s like every move is part of a performance.
“Des, honeypie, I don’t speak French, so you’re going to have to translate, please.” I think I’ve had one too many glasses of wine because I’m practically mimicking him, rolling my wrist as I speak in the same way he just did, but luckily, he doesn’t comment on it.
His eyes do widen at the use of the word honeypie, though.
“J’adore honeypie. Is that my new nickname from you, Petite Sorcière?”
“Ooh, I know that one. You love it?” Maybe learning French could be fun, after all.
“Close enough.” He chuckles and continues eating with all the grace that I have never possessed.
“What happened to calling me a bitch, by the way? What’s with the new nickname from you?” I know it was biche or something as Danika already explained it, but bitch is just funnier.
Danika spits out her wine and laughs. “It wasn’t bitch, but I really wish it was because that’s funny as fuck.” Case in point. Funny.
“It means little witch, because you are little, and you are a witch.” The way he shrugs is just like his sister, that and all their other similar traits make it clear they’re related.
“That’s actually quite a compliment, I think.
Yes, I like to think I’m somewhat of a witch.
Kinda have to while running the shop. It makes for good business if the locals think I’m the real deal.
” Happy with this new nickname, I stand and clear my plate, realizing the trash can is full and desperately needs emptying. It won’t withstand another thing.
Desdemon and Danika are whispering so I decide not to pry. They may have had all afternoon together, but it’s still been a long time since they last saw each other.
“I’m going to empty the trash.” My announcement gets a thumbs up from Danika as she continues whispering to her now-straight-faced brother, and I know I decided not to pry, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.
With a shake of my head, I pull the bag out of the can and tie the top, sliding my slippers back on before crossing through the living room toward the door at the top of the stairs. I flick the switch to turn on the light, and take in the scents of the storage room below as I make my way down.
If I could be in fifty places at once, I think I’d love to make Mystic T’s a brand of witchy coffee shops all over America, but I know I’d have FOMO that I couldn’t experience the joy of each one myself. Even my goals find a way to fuck themselves over.
The back door of the building is just at the bottom of the stairs, and I go about sliding the first lock out of place before using the key hanging beside the door to free the second lock.
It’s a cool evening, and it’s clear enough for the crescent moon to shine brightly in the sky.
It’d be a great night to sit outside and charge all of my crystals and charms, but we have a guest and I have dessert to eat as soon as I get back upstairs.
“What is he doing upstairs?”
The trash bag clatters onto the ground beside me as I’m pushed up against the wall by my shoulders and caged in by a solid body.
I should be scared, but that angry ball of fire in my chest begins to burn brightly when I look up—all the way up—and clash eyes with the stranger who kissed me yesterday.
“You.” I put as much venom into my voice as physically possible. “Get off me. You have no right to touch me. I’ll call the cops.” With each sentence, my determination feels like it’s waning, but I keep the scowl on my face and my jaw tight.
“No, you won’t, Aiyana. Why is Desdemon in your apartment?” He doesn’t move, and the scent of him consumes me; like burnt embers of a maple tree.
“I don’t know who Aiyana is, and I have even less of a fucking clue how you know the name of my best friend’s brother, so I suggest you take your thuggish ass and fuck all the way off.
” Wriggling to break free, I try to slide down the wall, but he catches my movement and grips my waist, bringing his lips down to hover over mine.
“I will never ‘fuck all the way off’ because I am yours and you are mine. The bond is unbreakable. Even after death.”
Well if that’s not creepy, I don’t know what is!
I open my mouth to form some witty response, but again with the surprise kissing. His mouth crashes against mine, making it easy to forget that I detest this stranger who thinks kissing me whenever he feels like it is okay.
Regaining my senses—after longer than is ideal—I push the man back again, but he manages to avoid my slap this time before quickly pinning me to the wall once more.
“Fool me once, and all that.” His grin lights up his entire face and the bubble of hatred inside me just grows larger.
“I’ll fool you every fucking time. Stop stalking me, you fucking weirdo.” I crash my fists against his hard chest, trying to get away.
“I think the lady said she would like you to go.”
Ah fuck.
Turning my head to the side, I see Desdemon standing in the doorway, his calm and collected manner still perfectly in place, and he’s staring straight at the sexy stalking stranger. No. Just stalking stranger. No sexy.
“This has nothing to do with you. It’s between me and my chosen one.”
“Now hang on a minute. We’ll have less of the chosen one crap.
I don’t even know your name.” I hold up my hand to his mouth as he opens it to speak.
“And no, I don’t want you to tell me, either.
I don’t care. I just want to go back into my apartment and eat the delicious dessert I prepared earlier. And no, again, that wasn’t an invite.”
The man is clearly distracted by Desdemon’s presence and I manage to slip down and out of his grasp.
“Something with strawberries? You always loved strawberries.” The man is smiling, but there’s a lot of pain behind his sparkling eyes. Actually sparkling…catching every bit of light possible like the weirdo he is.
I’m not going to confirm or deny my love of strawberries because that was a lucky guess. Nothing more.
“Goodbye, stalker. Look forward to never seeing you again.” I gift him with a tight smile before heading inside, pausing to speak to Desdemon.
“Thank you for the save, honeypie. You coming back up?” I didn’t intend to use that nickname again, ever, but here we are.
I didn’t intend on seeing this stalker again, either.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear there’s a giant grizzly bear outside with the vibrating growl practically weaving its way through my senses.
What is it with men and this whole stalking obsession? Professor Haught has upped his game lately too.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes, Petite Sorcière. Please, head up without me.” The two men are having a staring contest, and who am I to disturb them? Maybe Desdemon is the man for the getting-rid-of-stalkers job.
“Okay, I’ll get dessert ready.” Without a third glance at the stalker, because yes, I had a second glance, I run up the stairs, my slippered feet pounding on the steps before I reach the door and head into our apartment.
Hopefully, my bestie’s brother will kick ten shades of shit out of the creep who thinks he owns me.
I know the stalker’s still outside when Desdemon returns, when we eat our dessert, and when Desdemon thanks us for a lovely evening before going to his hotel for the night. He’s still outside when I shower, when I climb into bed, and when I attempt my first orgasm ever for the milliontyeth time.
I know it because I can feel him. He’s like one of the spirits or souls that attaches themselves to a person, demanding attention and a way to be heard. Well, fuck that shit. He can swivel on a rusty fork before I willingly give him my attention.
Eventually, sleep finds me, and so does my dream man. But for some reason, the sound of hooves interrupts the moment he’s about to slide his tongue over my throbbing clit, joining his expert fingers that are so, so close to bringing me to that peak I crave.
And he’s gone, poofed into nothingness. I’m clearly still dreaming because as sleep-me opens my eyes, I can see a white horse in the corner of my bedroom, with the man of my dreams sitting on its back.
But wait…is he the man from my dreams or is he…?
The stalker.