Page 57 of Hexed Up

“You can sue me,” he says, “it would be worth it.”

“It would?” I say, a little dazed by this conversation, by the scent of him in the evening’s air and the proximity of him, his lips wet, his eyes dark.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that afternoon.” One side of his mouth lifts in a very sexy half-smirk. “It’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a long time.”

“I think it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time full stop,” I admit.

“We could ditch the contract,” he says, gaze falling to my mouth.

“It was only a guide anyway.”

“It wasn’t witnessed. It would never stand up in court.”

He leans towards me and I tip back my head. My eyes flutter shut.

But instead of his warm mouth meeting mine, I feel a wet tongue slurp up my shin.

“What the–!” I yelp, jumping to one side, eyes flying open.

McGruff sits at my feet, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Jesus Christ! What is that stink?” Horatio yells, pinching his nose and jumping away from us both.

I pinch my nose too and glare at McGruff. “Fox poo!” I say. “I take it back. You’re not a munchkin or a monkey, you’re a gremlin!”

“He smells awful. How the hell do we get rid of it? Don’t we need to bathe him in ketchup or something?”

“No, there’s a spell.”

“Great, then please use it,” he says, tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t know it. I’ll need to find my aunt. She’s a witch who specialises in veterinary medicine.”

Horatio lunges at McGruff and grabs him by the collar. “Molly, go quickly, please!”

Ten minutes later, the whole of my family is gathered on the patio at the rear of the hotel and my aunt is firing spells at McGruff as my mum bemoans his existence. McGruff doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he seems to be enjoying the attention.

“It’s just what dogs do,” I tell my mum.

“I think he was just proving his worth as a chaperone,” Horatio whispers to me.

“I told him to behave,” my mum says, glaring daggers at the dog. “And I think I now smell of the stuff too.”

She sniffs her arm, which has the whole of my family sniffing themselves too. I roll my eyes and peek at Horatio who, despite everything, appears to be repressing the urge to laugh.

“I need a shower,” my mum declares. “The charades will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Tiggie and I sigh in relief together, as the older members of the family filter away, my aunt’s spells now complete and the smell a little dissipated (the full odour won’t be gone until tomorrow). However, Prim looks genuinely disappointed.

“I guess I’ll just go read my book in bed then,” she says, throwing another sideways glance at Norman who is typing away on his phone yet again.

“Nah,” Tiggie says, “let’s go get a nightcap. You won’t mind, will you, Norm?” she calls over to him.

“Wh-what?” he says.

Tiggie sticks her tongue out at him and grabs Prim’s hand, pulling her along behind her. “I assume you two love birds don’t want to join us,” she says over her shoulder.

But she’s gone before we can answer.