Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Despite being an immoral person, and a criminal too, I sleep the best I ever have that night and wake without a crook in my neck, a pain in my head, or bags under my eyes, and a very tasty photo on my phone.
Like my pic, he hasn’t included his face. What he has included is better than I remember. He’s on his bed, propped up against some pillows, dressed in just a pair of grey sweatpants. His torso is ribbed with muscles and the bulge in those sweatpants confirms my size estimations from yesterday.
This means I’m still in an infectiously good mood even after I’ve dragged McGruff around the forest, have endured breakfast with my parents, and managed the journey back to my flat.
However, by lunchtime, the good mood is wearing off and my nerves are getting the better of me.
I’ve escaped detection so far and it seems the witching authorities are unaware of my serious misdeed, but I’m playing with fire here.
Messing around with Mr Hottie, strengthening the potion’s effects, and telling my family he is my boyfriend opens me up to detection, especially when my own sister is a leading investigative officer.
To make matters worse, since I received that photo last night, I haven’t heard one peep out of Mr Hottie.
I know he is working today. I know we only spoke last night. And, I know I could message him. But I’m not the one who’s been bewitched by a love potion. Isn’t he meant to be head over heels for me? Infatuated? Obsessed? If he is, this is very disappointing.
Even lunch and watching an episode of Loose Women with McGruff on the couch, isn’t enough to lift my foul mood. So I call Damien.
Rather than answer his phone like any normal person, he materialises into my flat instead, appearing on the couch beside me.
Today he’s wearing an orange and yellow kilt and his horns have been painted to match the plaid pattern.
“Please tell me you’re wearing something under that kilt,” I say.
“A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” He taps his nose. “So chica, how’s things?”
I flop back on the sofa dramatically and slam the nearest cushion over my face.
“Awful.”
“Shouldn’t you be working, instead of whatever this is?”
“I can’t work. I’m too depressed. I’m going to jail. And you were right. I like him.”
“I knew this would happen,” Damien sighs, “well, at least it’s not as bad as it could be.”
“Really? How many men have you accidentally bewitched in the last forty-eight hours?”
“If you were doing the dirty with him, it would be a lot worse, because you, Molly,” he says, removing the cushion from my face, “are unable to keep feelings and sex separate.”
He catches sight of my expression. My eye twitches.
“Molly!”
“It wasn’t sex. It was dry humping and we had our clothes on.”
“Satan alive, this is not good. No wonder you have feelings now! You always catch feelings whenever you sleep with a guy.”
“I didn’t sleep with him and I can do no-feelings sex!” I protest.
“You can not.”
“I can! In fact, maybe what I need to do is call up Max and have some no-strings-attached sex. Maybe that would fix this problem. The best way to get over someone is under someone else.”
“Call that scumbag ex of yours, and I will incinerate him.”
I sigh. “You’re so dramatic!”
“Remember the time you caught him sexting girls on the internet?”
“Possibly.”
“And the time you had flu and he didn’t check in on you once?”
“Vaguely.”
“And the time he forgot your birthday?”
“It rings a bell.”
“And all those times he was lying to you about everything?”
“Okay, so calling Max is a bad idea, but moping around at home thinking about Mr Hottie and how lovely he is is also a bad idea.”
“Your brain has been warped by all this sex.”
“There’s been no sex!” I remind him.
“The man isn’t lovely. He’s grumpy, anal, and rude.”
“He’s really not. I used to think so. But now I know him better, I think he’s kind of lovely.”
“He’s a womaniser. You think he’s lovely because the full force of his charm offensive has been directed at you.”
“Urgh! You’re probably right!”
“Has my advice about men ever been wrong in the past?”
“No,” I admit. Damien got me out of a very shitty relationship and made me realise just how badly I’d been letting the men in my life treat me. Since then, he’s helped me to grow my self-confidence and self-worth. “What am I going to do?”
“Stop the shenanigans for starters.”
“But the shenanigans were really good – like some of the best shenanigans I’ve ever had.”
“Lucifer save us!” Damien takes ahold of my shoulders. “Molly, he isn’t in love with you, it’s the potion.” I nod, I know that. “Be careful. And by that I mean, no more games of hide the sausage.”
“Urgh,” I groan, “I need distraction.”
Damien’s eyes light up. “I have an idea …”
“No,” I tell him firmly.
“You’re such a spoil-sport.”
“Says the demon who stopped me from kissing Mr Hottie yesterday.”
“It was for your own good. And anyway, it sounds like you failed to heed my good advice.” Damien taps his fingers against his mouth, his tail swishing around his legs. Then he stops. “I know – shopping!”
“I don’t have any money,” I remind him.
“Then we’ll go door shopping.”
“Window shopping,” I correct.
“Come on,” he says, pushing at my shoulders. “Go get your bag and some shoes.” McGruff yaps as I shift off the sofa and disturb him from his slumber. “No, you’re not coming,” Damien tells him.
An hour later we’re both in cubicles trying on outfits Damien picked off the racks.
Most of the outfits he’s picked out for me are skin-tight, Damien’s preferred fitting style.
I’m not a fan. I like to be able to breathe in my clothing.
But standing in front of the mirror this afternoon in a little black dress, I can’t help thinking about what Horatio would make of me dressed in this.
It does hug my hips and my arse, and there is quite a lot of tit on display.
“Are you decent?” Damien asks, throwing back the curtain and strolling right in before I can answer.
He’s in a pair of leather shorts and a string vest.
“Is it too much?” he asks me, twirling around. He’s arranged his hair to hide his horns and tucked his tail into his undies.
“Way too much!”
He claps his hands. “Perfect.” He considers me. “You look nice. Like a femme fatale.”
“I do need a dress to this family do …”
“I’m not very familiar with the whole family thing, but is this suitable?”
“No, probably not,” I say, reaching for the zipper. My mum would probably pop an eyeball if I showed up with this much of my breasts on show. Not that I know if I am truly going. It would be pretty dangerous. Plus, I haven’t asked my fake boyfriend yet.
“Then get it,” Damien says.
I reach down to and examine the price-tag. “I can’t afford it.”
Especially when moping around has cost me a day of potion brewing and the reversal potion will cost me even more.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“You will?” Damien’s never offered to buy me anything before. I didn’t even know if he strictly had any money. I usually pay for all our drinks on nights out and for dinner on the odd occasions we go out to eat – which is rare because Damien detests human food.
“This is the first time you’ve agreed to one of my outfit choices. Of course, I’m getting it.”
We try on some more outfits and then Damien takes the dress, as well as the shorts, string vest, and four shirts over to the till.
The assistant rings the items up and I wait with bated breath for Damien to pull out his money.
I’m intrigued to find out whether he’s hiding a purse full of rubies and emeralds under his kilt.
Only, instead of rooting around for his wallet, he leans across the counter and stares right into the assistant’s eyes.
His own glow a menacing red and his horns emerge from his hair, fangs descending into his mouth.
“Erm, Damien,” I whisper, but he ignores me.
“I am a fashion influencer. You will gift me these clothes in return for social media exposure.”
The assistant stares back at Damien in a trance. “I will gift you these clothes in return for social media exposure,” the man chimes.
“Great!” Damien snatches the bag, swings it over his shoulder and spins back to me. “Let’s go!”
“You can’t do that,” I hiss.
“What? Yes, I can.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Molly, I just did.”
He threads his arm through mine and pulls me out of the shop as I attempt to peer over my shoulder towards the shop assistant. He looks okay. I wonder if he remembers anything about that interaction.
“Is that how you pay for things all the time?”
“Yes,” Damien says, “It’s amazing how willing people are to give things away when they learn you are a social media star.”
“And you entrance them with your demonic abilities!”
“It’s not my fault,” he pouts. “Demons aren’t allowed to own money.”
“They aren’t?”
“No. Now, do you want to hit some more shops?”
I shake my head. “Can we go get a coffee instead?”
“You hate coffee!”
“It may be growing on me.”