Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(35)

“Curfew?” Aidan asked.

Ash didn’t respond.

He also didn’t move.

Thus began a weird display of testosterone as both men held their positions.

One beat.

Two beats.

Yikes!

I held my breath.

Then Aidan looked at me. “I’ll be in touch,” he said softly then he kissed my nose and then he was gone.

That was it. He got in his Roadster and took off.

Dinner and a kiss.

Okay, so it was halibut in lobster, brandy cream sauce and a f**king great kiss but still!

Ash grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, closing the door behind me. Then he started walking away, brushing past me.

Uh, what?

Interrupt a kiss like that and then walk away?

I don’t think so!

“Hey!” I snapped at his back.

He turned. “Yes?”

Erm.

“Uh… nothing,” I muttered.

Okay, maybe he scares me. Just a little.

I started to walk forward.

“You smell…” he muttered when I came abreast of him and I stopped, “good.”

“Good?”

Wha?

“Yes, good.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, hands on hips.

He just looked down at me.

“Well?” I pressed.

“You smell like sex,” he answered.

Ack!

What does sex smell like?

And, is that good?

Yikes.

I mean, I know what sex smells like but how did I smell like that?

Maybe I shouldn’t ask.

He was walking away.

“What does that mean, I smell like sex? I didn’t have sex,” I informed him.

Okay, perhaps I should have let it alone.

He turned, his lips were twitching now.

He didn’t spend the night running his frustrations off on the treadmill.

He didn’t spend it slowly getting drunk and pining after me.

He found me amusing.

I amused him.

Now I know how Joe Pesci felt!

“You don’t smell like you’ve had it, you smell like you want it.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Don’t worry,” his voice had dipped low, “that’s a good thing,” he assured me.

Then he f**king winked at me.

Fucking, f**king Sebastian!

And I still didn’t know a thing about The Prophesies.

22 March

Had to sort Rory out.

I was up in the Tower Room, cleansing my magickal implements as Nerissa taught me to when the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

A house full of people and nobody answers the phone.

I grabbed it and it was Rory’s headmaster.

Rory had been suspended for three days, fighting in school.

Our little Rory, fighting!

Thank goddess Josie was holed up somewhere joining the Labour Party or Rory would have been in for it.

As I was on Josie’s list to pick up Rory when she was unavailable, they told me to come and get him.

He had a busted lip and a face like thunder and said nothing throughout the entire meeting with the headmaster.

On the way home, I tried to get it out of him but he was having none of it. The minute we got back to The Gables, he thumped through the house toward the Trunk Room like he’d been taking Snotty Kid Lessons from a Disney movie.

Problem is, as he was thumping, he hit one of Mavis’s tables and knocked over and broke a Waterford vase.

Mm.

Not good.

“Best pick that up and then go tell Mavis,” I advised and Rory turned on me, little kid face in full scowl.

Then he grunted with feeling, “Nuh!”

“Nuh?” I asked.

“Yeah! Nuh!”

I know this seems like a weird conversation but I figure it’s normal going with a moody eight year old.

“What’s your problem?” I asked. I could go snotty with the best of them.

“I don’t have a problem.” Rory trying to out-snot me (no way, I was a master).

“You do have a problem and a busted lip to prove it,” I told him.

“Nuh.”

“Nuh right back at ‘cha!” I snapped.

This is when Su walked in.

“What gives?” she asked.

“You’re a hippy,” Rory said it like he would say, “You’re a loser,” to someone he actually thought was a loser.

Su looked at me and then walked out.

I guess I was on my own.

“You better tell me what’s going on,” I said to Rory.

“And you’re a witch.”

And he said the word “witch” like it started with a different letter.

Uh-oh.

Then Rory thumped away.

I gave him awhile to sulk, it’s always good to have awhile to sulk, and cleaned up the vase. Then I knocked on the door to the Trunk Room and ignored the “Go away!”

Rory was bouncing a soccer ball against the wall. Mavis would have a conniption.

I caught the ball.

“Rory, honey –”

“I said, go away!”

“Let’s talk.”

“Doan wanna.”

“Well, I don’t care if you ‘doan wanna’, we’re gonna talk.”