Page 60 of Hexed Up

“It’s an accurate description,” he says with a smirk.

I elbow him. “So what do you feel like doing now?” He raises both his eyebrows. “Just because our chaperone has been relegated to sleeping outside doesn’t mean you should get any ideas. We’re friends now and there’s a boundary plus a contract.”

“That you said was worthless.”

“I was caught up in the moment and not thinking straight.” Which seems to happen an awful lot when I’m with him. “So, anyway, what should we do? We could keep drinking until we both pass out at the bar. Or we could watch a movie? Or I think there may be a games room?”

His face lights up and he jumps down from his stool. “A games room, huh?”

“I bet you’re really competitive,” he nods, “and a bad loser.”

“The worst,” he says.

“Good, so am I. Let’s find that room and do this!”

Chapter Eighteen

The clock strikes midnight as we walk into the large games room in the basement of the hotel, the dim lights flicking on and revealing a pool table, a foosball table, a darts board, a shuffleboard, and table tennis.

“Right,” Horatio says, rolling up his sleeves, “how do we want to do this? Round of each, overall winner wins?”

I survey the different games. I’m a whizz at table tennis, pretty good at pool, and okay at foosball and shuffleboard. Darts I’ve always been dreadful at – in fact a poor man once ended up with my dart in his foot – but I think I have a fair chance at winning overall.

“Okay,” I say, “you’re on.”

“How about the rules?” he says.

I pick up a pool cue and inspect the end. “You do like your rules, don’t you?”

“I like to set boundaries,” he says, a twinkle in his eye that makes me think we’re not talking darts here. “Rules are: no funny business.” He wags his finger at me.

“I do not engage in funny business, Mr Shaw.”

“You know what I mean, no magic.”

“Sure,” I say, shrugging casually. “I won’t need magic to beat you.”

“Tough talk, Miss Eccleston. If you’re so sure you’re going to beat me, do you want to make things more interesting?”

I rub chalk across the end of my cue and blow across it, a puff of white dust floating his way. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s introduce a prize. If I win, then we finish that kiss we started out there on the lawn.”

“That breaks the contract.”

“We’re setting new rules here, Miss Eccleston. And it’s only one kiss.”

“Fine,” I say, spinning the cue in my hands. “And if I win, you have to let me drive your Ferrari.”

“You can’t drive.”

“Yes, but I’ve always wanted to learn.” He shuffles on his feet, clearly less sure about this contest. “Mr Shaw, I do believe you are scared.”

“Bring it on!” he says.

The game of pool is a tight one. For every ball I pot, he pots one straight after, demonstrating an array of trick shots I’ve never mastered. Soon we’re down to the black ball, both chasing it across the table until finally he has a shot that’s almost perfectly lined up. I’m sorely tempted to break my promise and set a spell that will have his ball wobbling across the table, but I promised. Instead, I cross my fingers and toes and hold my breath. He leans down over the table, stretching across it, closes one eye and slides the cue seamlessly through his fingers. He hits the white, it spins across the table and connects with the black, However, he’s a fraction of a millimetre off centre and the black ball hits the cushion, missing the pocket.

I squeal with joy and line my own shot up. It’s not straight forward. I have to work out the angle in my head but I manage tohit it cleanly and watch as the black ball rolls along the cushion and disappears down the pocket.