Page 98 of Hexed Up

“My stepdad. He’s an asshole.” He raises his gaze to me, dazzling me with those deep blue eyes, and lifts his hand. “And before you say I’m an asshole, I am nothing compared to my stepfather.”

“Then don’t go,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve just bought my body weight in ice cream, and I’d happily share it with you if you want.”

He does that dramatic sigh thing again – it’s so over the top and unlike Horatio that it almost has me giggling.

“No, I have to go. For Mom’s sake.”

I walk around the counter and come to stand in front of him.

“Why is your stepdad such an arsehole then?”

“Just always getting at me, I guess. Visiting there is always an ordeal.”

I chew on my lip. He looks utterly downtrodden and depressed, which is not how someone should look on their birthday week – especially Friday night on their birthday week. And before I know what I’m doing, my lips are moving, my tongue waggling, and words are coming out of my mouth that I probably shouldn’t be saying.

“Would it help if someone came with you? Diffused the tension a little bit? And by someone, obviously I’m offering myself as a sacrifice … But then maybe that might take things too far,” I say, backtracking. “Maybe me, a walking disaster, being there would just make it a lot more stressful and a lot worse–”

“It wouldn’t,” he says eagerly, interrupting my rambling train of thought. “I’d like you to come.” He nods. “I’d be very grateful if you came, if you wouldn’t mind.”

I smile at him. I can hardly say no, can I? He did come to my family-thing last weekend. And I did trash his birthday party on Wednesday.

“You owe me,” he reminds me teasingly, making it clear I don’t really owe him anything.

“Then I’ll come.”

“It will be awful,” he warns me.

“More awful than my family get-together? Come on, Horatio, that can’t be possible.”

“Trust me. It can be.”

“Well, obviously I’m amazing at dealing with parents,” I say, rolling my eyes, because obviously I’m not. “But I’ll try my best. Maybe if I distract them with my general chaos, it’ll give you some respite.”

“I think my mom will really like you,” he says.

“We’ll see,” I tell him. “What should I wear?”

I stare down at the black summer dress I’m wearing right now.

“You look lovely the way you are. You always do.”

“Such a charmer.” I sniff. “But seriously. If they’re one of those traditional couples, who are going to look at me and–”

“Molly, you look lovely.” He hesitates. “You’re sure about this?”

“I owe you, remember?”

He steps forward, pinches my fingers between his, squeezing them affectionately, dazzling me with that blue gaze.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

I bite my lip again and nod, trying to ignore all those feelings that start swirling round my body when he talks to me like that.

“You’re welcome.”

“They live in Oxford.”

“Will that mean another overnight stay and another double bed?”