Page 25 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed
“Are there cameras in here?” I snort.
“No, but I don’t know if it’s bugged for sound,” he answers honestly.
I guess we’ll just have to fuck quietly.
I clear my throat and nod at Preston to continue. His sketches a hand through his thick brown hair and I love watching how the curls bounce back in place afterwards. His green eyes are uncharacteristically serious. I already know from his body language and refusal to tell me sooner that whatever he’s going to say, I’m not going to be happy.
But can it really be any worse than what’s already happened?
“The network wants you to. . . flirt with Bodie. They want on-air sparks.”
“The shaman dick?” I ask for clarification.
“Yep, the very same.”
I lied—it got worse.
“Ewww,” I sputter. “He’s such an oily bohunk!”Thank you, Sixteen Candles.“I can’t flirt with him—he’s a total douchecanoe!”
Then why do you like Bellamy, my brain demands.
Because my ovaries are idiots, I counter.
“Trust me, I’m less than pleased with the idea, too, but for now, we want to make the network happy. That’s your goal. Play whatever part necessary to win. With any luck, Bodie will get booted after the first trial.”
The man sounds like he’s been talking to my gram-gram.
No matter the costechoes in my head.
Fuck my life. This, apparently, is the current price of winning.
I hope you’re happy, ovaries,I mentally sneer.
Their silence is testimony of how much this game show hasn’t swung in our favor.
Wake up, bitches, we have a trial to win!
I’m going to need those tarts to be at full capacity if I’m going to flirt with Bodie convincingly.
I look at Binx, who is wearing a very pissed-off cat face. With any luck, my pretty kitty will maim the shaman witch before any real flirting can take place. A sick smile of satisfaction spreads across my face at the thought, making Preston give a mock shudder.
“Nora, you look a little bloodthirsty,” he comments uneasily.
“No worries. I won’t bloody the stage or anything. I might bloody your lip for not telling me this sooner, though,” I admonish.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t be down with the idea. And because. . .”
“Because—” I prompt.
“Because I’m jealous,” he hisses honestly.
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be. I can’t stand the man and I only just met him.”
“Still,” Preston harumphs. “But I’m sorry for not saying something earlier. Can I make it up to you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, stepping into his personal space. “Give me a good luck kiss.”
