Page 58 of Hexed Up

Norman looks up from his phone, realises he’s been left alone with just us and the dog and almost sprints away.

“Your cock ring has totally freaked the man out.”

“It’s not a ring, it’s a piercing,” he says with that poker face.

“Damn you,” I say, knocking my hand against his very solid right pec, “I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”

He captures my hand against his chest and pulls me towards him. “Where were we?” he murmurs.

“Goblin’s mouldy testicles,” I say, yanking myself free. “You smell disgusting.”

I gag into my fist.

Horatio glares down at McGruff. “Thanks pal. You’ve totally cock-blocked me. Can we get your aunt back out here to sort me out too?”

“No,” I say, “but you could go find some ketchup.”

He mutters something under his breath and stomps off. McGruff and I watch him go, then I tell my dog, “Sorry, buddy, but you’re sleeping out here tonight. You still smell pretty whiffy.”

McGruff grins at me like that was his plan all along and trots off into the darkness.

“And leave the squirrels alone,” I call after him.

* * *

When I return inside the hotel a few minutes later I find both my sisters and Horatio sitting at the bar, bottles floating through the air and mixing some kind of cocktail concoction in front of them.

“Phew,” I say, “how can you stand to be anywhere near him?”

“Prim sorted me out,” he explains, “no need for ketchup.”

“Thank goodness,” I say, “I thought you were going to have to sleep outside with the dog.”

“Nope,” he says, “but you may have to. You’re not smelling so great yourself, Sugar Booger.”

“Sugar Booger?” Tiggie repeats, looking repulsed.

“Don’t ask,” I say, taking a seat. “Prim, could you?”

“Sure,” she says, waving her hand through the air and removing any traces of fox poo smells from my clothing and my skin.

“Better?” I ask them all.

Horatio bends over me, sniffing the top of my head. “Much better,” he says, planting a kiss there and making both of my sisters swoon.

“So,” Tiggie says, as her completed cocktail finally lands down in front of her, “I still don’t understand how you two met?”

“Horatio told you, we’re neighbours,” I say, taking a sip of the cocktail that lands down in front of me too.

“But you’ve been neighbours for ages haven’t you?”

“Twenty-two months,” he says.

“I thought it was eighteen,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I remember the day I moved in clearly. It was a bright May day – first real clear day we’d had in months. The air was full of blossom and sunshine; I was carrying boxes up to my new flat because that bastard elevator wasn’t working–”

“Spoiler alert,” I interrupt, sipping on my straw, “it never works.”