Page 99 of Hexed Up

“As tempting as that sounds, I haven’t got the stomach for an overnight stay. We’ll come back tonight. Just give me a moment to get changed, and then we’ll go.”

“Right,” I say.

Neither of us moves. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. Then he gives my fingers another squeeze and leaves.

I rush straight to the bathroom to apply new deodorant, new perfume, and some makeup to my face. Honestly, he said I looked lovely and I wasn’t even wearing foundation today. I shake my head in disbelief and add a little, redo my eyeliner, and brush my hair out.

When I’m done, I step back into my living room and call out into the void, “Damien, get your arse in here, will you?”

It takes him a few minutes, but then he’s popping into the centre of my living room.

“I need you to do me a favour,” I tell him.

“Ugh!” he says dramatically.

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Fine. What is it?”

I point to McGruff who, after our long walk this morning, is spread out on the sofa, snoring his little fluffy head off.

“Would you dog-sit for me tonight?”

“It’s Friday,” Damien points out. “I have plans.”

“No, you don’t. You only ever have plans with me, and I have other plans, which means you have no plans.”

“I might have other plans,” he says, examining his fingernails. They’re painted to match his outfit. All bright orange today. Even his horns and his hair.

“Do you though?” I ask.

“No,” he admits. “Okay.” He huffs and pouts. “I’ll do it, but you have to give me that human’s phone number.”

“Damien, I’m not doing that.”

“Fine, I’ll watch him until his bedtime,” he says with a toss of his mane. “Where are you going anyway? How do you have plans on a Friday night without me?”

“I’m going with Horatio to his parents,” I say, so quickly and so quietly I hope he doesn’t hear me.

Damien eyes me with suspicion. “Repeat that.”

“Horatio’s going to his parents’ tonight for dinner. He needs moral support, and I offered to go with him.”

“You’re meeting his parents.” I bite my lip again and nod. “Wait, doesn’t that mean something in human culture?”

“No, not really,” I say casually and breezily.

“Uh-uh. I remember the ex-boyfriend. I remember you being really pissed off because he’d never introduced you to his mother. In fact, didn’t he lie and tell you she’d emigrated to Spain when in fact she lived right around the corner?”

“You’re misremembering. Several millennia of age can seriously affect your memory like that.”

“I’m not that old.”

I grin at him, but he’s still staring daggers at me.

“Okay, it does mean something in some cases, but in this case it doesn’t. I’m just helping out a friend.”

“A friend you have feelings for?” he hisses, as we hear footsteps in the corridor.