Page 10 of Witches and Wine
One could say that. One could also say it led me back tohim. And that realization was about as terrifying as it was invigorating.
Not answering him, I kept wiping my hand over that spot on my face, thinking I hadn’t gotten it all.
“Listen, Stewart. I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but I pretty much know everyone in town, and I happen to excel at socializing.” Dion pressed a hand to his chest and bowed.
Whenever he referred to me by my last name in the past suggested he meant business.
“You don’t say,” I mused with extra sarcasm and a grin that I couldn’t stop if I tried.
“Why don’t I introduce you to some potential clients? Save you the leg work.”
The urge to fidget suddenly overwhelmed me. “You’d do that?”
Dion guffawed and uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn. The way you said it makes me sound like an asshole.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just—” I reached a hand toward him before I had the chance to think about my actions. Dion wore a jacket, but a spark still sizzled from our contact the moment my fingers rested on the fabric. Gulping, I let my touchslip away, harboring that pleasantly surprised expression he gave. “—that’s a huge ask. What would you want in return?”
“Sex,” Dion clipped without hesitation.
My cheeks flushed, and my stomach sprung into erratic somersaults at the mere thought of it with him—with the Greek god of wine and?—
“I’m kidding,” he added, bending his knees to look me in the eye. “Unless it’s on the table.”
I threw him an exasperated glare and said nothing because I couldn’t trust myself with words. Given the butterflies dancing in my stomach, I may have taken him up on it.
“Right,” Dion said, smirking. “Look. Don’t worry about it. It’s very much in my wheelhouse and not a big deal.”
Combing some hair over my ear, I felt my cheeks blush again, but for an entirely different reason. “Dion, you know I can’t without?—”
“Okay, fine,” Dion interrupted, waiting for me to lift my gaze back to his face. “A date then.”
The butterflies turned into hummingbirds. “Adate?”
“Yup. Just a date.” Dion leaned his shoulder on the streetlamp situated between us. “No preconceived expectations. Just us.”
Us.
Any woman in their right mind would’ve already answered him with a resounding “fuck yes,” but if I was being honest with myself, Dion put me on edge. It wasn’t because I worried about him hurting me in a physical sense, but the emotional side? Well, he hadn’t exactly kept the best track record.
Then again, Harm was rooting for us. She’d already confessed that to me weeks ago. And if he did hurt me? He’d have two war gods to contend with. It was enough reassurance.
“Alright, fine.” I leaned on the same pole and lifted my nose into the air like this was a typical business transaction.
“Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” Dion bit his lower lip, his brows bobbing.
Pushing from the pole, I eyed him warily. “Tomorrow? You haven’t introduced me to any clients yet.”
Dion winked at me before briefly, ever so fleetingly, cupping my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have you meet six tomorrow during the day, and by night, we’ll go on our date. Yeah?”
The confidence swarming this man in absolutespades.
“I—” Words again failed me, and I slapped a palm to my forehead. “—sure.”
“It’s settled then.” Dion snapped his fingers, a new form of hitch in his giddy-up as he started to walk past me in the direction of his home. “Oh, and Chels?—”
Here it was—some clandestine confession or explanation as to why he took so long to text me.
“You might want to use some soap on that.” He pointed to his cheek where the previous icing had been on mine. “Looks like it stained your skin blue.”
