Page 12 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed
“Ummm. . .well, shit. I guess I didn’t read that part; I was busy thinking about how I was going to win against Douchamy—I mean,Bellamy.”
I reach behind me and pull out the paper folded up in my back pocket. Flipping to the end, I skim the terms and conditions, my heart and sexual hopes sinking by the second. Inter-contestant relations are not permissible while the show is being filmed—no heartbreak there. The thought of ‘having relations’ with Bellamy makes me want to puke. I don’t care how hot the shit-wizard is—being a total dick is always unattractive.
Liar,my ovaries accuse.
I ignore them and keep reading.
It’s the next lines in the pamphlet that piss me off:
There can be no relations between the contestants and anyone who works at the studio. Such a relationship will lead to termination of the network employee and dismissal from the show of the contestant.
Dammit—the network fucking clam-jammed me!
Those bitches!
Preston chuckles at my sour-grapes face, but I hear the strain in it.How fucking ironic is this shit?I finally find someone who wants to stir my cauldron with his athame and it’s not freaking permissible. I wonder how much Preston loves his job before I remember my purpose in all of this—winning the grimoire. The minute I get my hands on that little beauty and reverse my family’s hex, I’m jinxing the network into forgetting this stupid clause, then I’m tackling Preston to the ground and having my way with him until we are both too numb to move.
If you can still feel your body afterwards, you aren’t fucking right.
I smile evilly, content with this new plan.
“Should I be afraid? You look like you’re up to no good—maybe the network should have made you the Wicked Witch of the West,” Preston teases.
“Of the West?” I scoff. “Mister, I’m the Wicked Witch ofEverything.”
Preston tips his head back and laughs, dispelling any bad air between us.
“God, you’re Hell on a broomstick, aren’t you?”
“That’s what my gram-gram says, and she should know since I got it from her. Okay, so no. . .relations. Can I still flirt with you?”
Preston heaves a weary sigh.
“I wish you wouldn’t, but, yes, you can.”
“Why don’t you want me to flirt with you?”
“Nora, are you trying to kill me? A man can only take so much and you. . .” He pauses to sweep a scorching look up and down my body. “You are the apple from the Garden of Eden—too perfect for your own good. Now, follow me to the studio before I say ‘fuck it’ to my job and ravish you on the hood of your car.”
The man guides me through the door before I can ‘tempt’ him anymore; although, I think he is doing a much better job of seducing me with those dimples and his velvety voice.
“Follow me,” he commands, before going to his car.
He gets in, and then hops right back out. In his arms, he’s carrying a pizza box. I roll down my window as he thrusts it toward me, surprised since it’s not what I ordered—he said that he was going to a deli.
“I know I said that I was starving, but you didn’t have to buy me a whole pizza,” I joke.
“This is Boston’s best pizza. I got you all meat since you like to eat.”
“Thank you,” I groan gratefully because pizza trumps a sandwich—and a whole pie is my food heaven.
Staring at the gooey cheesy perfection, I wonder how crass it would be to comment that I do, in fact, love all meats; but I think that I’ve pushed poor Preston enough for now.
“I’ll stuff my face before we get to the studio so that you will never know how truly unladylike I really am.”
My coach grins charmingly.
“Now, I’m envisioning stuffing my face, but I don’t want to say with what so that you’ll never know how ungentlemanly I really am.”
