Page 86 of Witch You Would
Almost. And I really needed to not think about that right now, because it was distracting as hell.
We were getting ready to hit the karaoke party, which honestly wasn’t my scene, but people would wonder what happened if neitherof us showed up. After so many days of pretending to pretend to flirt with Penelope on the show, it was going to be hard tokeep my hands to myself now that I knew exactly how it felt to have them all over her. My already-decent imagination had acquirednew spank bank material, and it was probably going to keep offering me ideas at inappropriate times until my feelings settled.
I smoothed the mustache down and checked for integrity. Looked okay. Tinted gel was next. Slick it back with a comb, washoff the leftover goop, and . . . done. Add safety glasses and look complete.
“It’s like you’re getting ready for a Halloween party,” Penelope said. “Except you have to do it every day.”
“Only while we’re here,” I said. “Usually it’s once or twice a week for a few hours.”
“Does it bother you?”
The easy lie almost came out: It’s fine. No big deal. I’m used to it. I didn’t want to lie to Penelope, though. Not anymore,and not about this.
“It kind of does.” I looked at her in the mirror, looking at me. “It’s one thing to be Leandro for a little while and me therest of the time. Doing it all day for so long has been stressing me out. What if I slip up? What if I break character?”
Penelope grinned. “What if some girl you like ends up liking the wrong you?”
“I legit wanted to walk into the bay,” I said, leaning on the counter. “It was bad enough when you hated me—Leandro, I mean.”
“I never hated you. I just...”
“You thought he was a flake getting people to do unsafe magic.”
“Pretty much. Bad news, bro: you totally broke character with me.”
Shit.
“Too competent,” Penelope continued. “Too careful. All your accidents were fake, except the spill. I think you reminded metoo much of... you, I guess. What I knew from emails and blog posts, anyway.”
“Well, hopefully I did enough goofy tricks that the editors can make me look appropriately derpy.”
Penelope stepped into the bathroom and wrapped her armsaround me from behind. “It’ll be okay. And hey, now that I’m in on the secret, we can work together better, right?”
That did cheer me up. Then my second thoughts about what Isaac had said dropped me back into my own personal pity hole.
I hadn’t finished talking with Sam and Ed, but they had accepted my text apology for disappearing and my brief “she knowsand we’re good” explanation. They were both happy for me, which for Ed meant a chill “That’s so great, dude” and a smilingsunglasses face emoji, and for Sam meant “FINALLY!!” plus a GIF of two cartoon characters humping doggy-style.
I hadn’t talked things out with Penelope, either, but that seemed slightly less necessary now. The major part was done; wecould figure out logistics once the competition was over. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
We stopped by Penelope’s room so she could fix her face, and ran into Dylan. I shot the shit with him in the hallway waitingfor her—super-nice dude, worried about his mom back home and his bakery job. I told him I hoped he’d get promoted after this,and he said he hoped he’d beat the rest of us so he could open his own place. Then he could promote himself to boss.
It would be cool if all of us could win, honestly. We all had dreams, and goals, and stuff we’d do with our prizes. Everysingle person in the competition was hardworking and skilled, and it seemed a waste of talent to send any of us back to wherewe’d started with nothing to show for it but our accumulated day rates and something to put on our CVs. But it was a contest,and only one team would take the top prize.
The library-slash-lounge had a wall of bookshelves in that same distressed wood as everything else in the hotel. Cozy readingnooks and living-room-like couch-and-table areas took up most of the middle space. Against one wall was a stand-up piano; Amy already sat behind it playing a song I didn’t recognize. Quentin had grabbed the guitar from the lobby and was jamming along, nodding and tapping his foot to the rhythm. Nobody was singing yet, but I assumed that was because no one wanted to be first.
Penelope and I sat together on a love seat, chatting with Dylan and a couple of the PAs. Her thigh brushed mine sometimeswhen she moved, and I had to cross my legs to hide how it affected me. She had changed into a skirt, which, if we were alone,I could just flip up and—
“You okay, man?” Dylan asked. “You got a funny look on your face.”
Whoops. “My face always looks funny,” I joked. “It’s the mustache.”
He raised his eyebrows in anif you say soexpression, then went back to paying attention to the conversation.
Yeah, this was not going to be easy.
Drinks happened, singing happened, and as Amy had requested, Penelope and I danced together. Slower at first, bachata moves,basic steps and turns. I kept it clean, didn’t pull her too close with my hand that was on her waist, or let it slide downa little lower like I wanted. She really was a good dancer, and I hoped I wasn’t making a fool of myself. Either with thedancing, or with the sappy smiles I couldn’t avoid having every time I looked at her.
Then Amy played something faster, somebody whooped and shouted, “Dale!” and Penelope gave me a look that said it was on. She kicked off her shoes and went full pata sucia, and I went with her. We spun, I dipped her, we slipped in and out of each other’s arms, and a few times our moves would have been a whole differentkind of fun if we’d been naked and somewhere else. Eventually I tapped out to wash off some sweat and get a drink of water, watching as Penelope kept dancing her ass off.
