Page 45 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“What are you looking for?”

“Just taking in your chaos.”

“I just cleaned!”

“Why are there always dirty clothes on your floor?”

“Like I had space in my car on the way here for a hamper.”

“You have a laundry basket. I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, and it still has some of the same laundry in it.”

“So, you can’t put your dirty clothes in your laundry basket because you never put away your clean clothes from when you did laundry at my place.”

“Exactly. And when the basket is empty, I’ll put all the dirty clothes in it and go to the laundromat.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll scare the lizards off for you again. But you should buy a second basket, so you have one for clean clothes and one for dirty clothes. They’re stackable. Two won’t take up much more space than one.”

“Quit trying to trick me into becoming a neat freak like you.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Are you thinking about kissing me at some point today?”

“How about now? Would now be a good time?”

He advances on me with a theatrical swagger, running a hand through his hair, narrowing his eyes, licking his lips, and . . . no, he did not just roll his hips like that. He’s ridiculous.

I try not to laugh, knowing I’m already losing.

He extends his hand, and when I take it, he stares at me with his eyes wide open. When he pulls me forward, he lifts my hand and kisses my fingers. I’ve never had my hand kissed as much as he does it. If ever. I wouldn’t have found that hot if someone had described it happening to them, but when it happens to me, it’s more than his lips grazing my fingers. It’s an imprint—as lasting as if his lips had been tattooed there.

When he brings me closer to kiss my mouth, I’m already on fire for him. His tongue sweeps over mine as he walks me back toward my bed. I bump into the nightstand, knocking over the amethyst angel who needs a new name. It startles me, causes me to break our kiss.

I turn to rescue Hilda, and Jensen looks over my shoulder. “Where’d she come from?”

“The Spirit Sisters gave her to me this morning. I guess they thought I needed an angel.”

“Are you sure she’s not supposed to be a ghost? If that’s an angel, where are her wings?”

“Oh, shit.” I turn the figure around in my fingers. “Why’d I think she was an angel?”

“I asked you first.”

She has no wings. I could’ve sworn she did. I guess it was just the long dress and long, flowing hair that made me assume angel. But she could be a ghost. A witch? My fingers release her like she’s burst into flames. She bounces against my mattress. “What the hell is she?”

“Well, she’s probably pissed off right now because you just threw her like that.”

I snatch her up. “I didn’t throw her. I just dropped her. On accident.”

“You probably shouldn’t let her know you’re afraid of her.”

“I’m not afraid of her. She’s not real.”

“Are you sure? Because I can see her.”

“She’s a real rock, but she’s not alive. Or undead. She can’t hurt me.”

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