Page 79 of Hexed
“You bet your ass you’re buying me new clothes. It’s the least you can do.”
I smile.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She wipes some sand from her shin and stands up straight after getting her shoes back on.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t care that I’m mad at you.”
“Is this you mad?” My brows rise. “Terrifying.”
“You’re a real prick, you know?” she says. But she’s grinning at me.
“I do care, piccola sirena. Forgive me,please.” My hands come together in prayer. “I don’t know how I’ll go on if you don’t.”
She looks me in the eye like she’s trying to gauge whether she can trust me.
And maybe, just this once, I’m lying to her.
Because the truth is, she could be mad at me for the rest of her life if it meant she’d stick around.
She makes me…feel. And maybe it’s nonsensical, but it is what it is.
Friends.
EIGHTEEN
ENZO
Venesa is wearingan overpriced bright pink shirt that says “In My Mermaid Era” and a pair of men’s board shorts with little seashells sprinkled all over that match the boardwalk’s arch.
Her hair is thrown back up in that tangled, saltwater-style messy bun on top of her head, and her makeup, which had smeared from the ocean water, has been wiped completely clean off her face.
She looks different this way. More youthful.
Still just as beautiful, though.
I’m sitting on an uncomfortable picnic bench along a strip of the boardwalk that has oversize outdoor bulbs strung up on the railing, casting a yellow glow, and I watch as Venesa moves up in the line at a small food truck that says “Funnel Cakes & More.”
She spins around after she orders, holding two giant monstrosities ofsomethingin her hands, and her smile is so blinding, it makes my heart feel like it’s careening off a cliff and deep diving into my stomach.
I run a hand through my hair, bouncing my knee beneath the picnic table.
When she makes it over, she holds up the greasy treats like they’re trophies. “I got us funnel cakes.”
I look at the fried monstrosity warily. “I’ve never had one.”
She slides onto the bench across from me, her mouth dropping open in shock. “What do you mean, you’ve never had one?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Enzo,” she admonishes. “That’s unacceptable.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Well…” She hands the funnel cake to me. “Prepare yourself to be a changed man.”
I take it from her begrudgingly, looking down at the powdered pieces. I don’t let the words fall from my lips—how I’m afraid I’m already a changed man just from knowing her.
