Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(77)
He watched Rose as she scanned each of her boards—six of them—for the latest called number, her lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated.
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “What I wouldn’t give to be that lip you’re nibbling, little witch.”
Her head spun toward him, caramel eyes wide. “What?”
“Bingo…” He smirked.
“Huh?”
Taking her hand that held her marker-stamp, he slowly stamped the O-69 on her top right card. “Bingo, little witch. And what a number to win it on.”
“Bingo?” Her cheeks flushed as she realized what he meant, both with the innuendo and the bit about the game. “Oh! Bingo. Bingo!”
She jumped up, waving her hand.
The announcer and his assistant continued with the next number until Greta slipped her fingers into the corners of her mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle. “Hey, Tooley, you big oaf! Our girl has a bingo here, so stop your yammering!”
Damian chuckled as Rose read off her numbered row before bounding up to the front to collect her prize. When she returned to their table, she showed it to him proudly, displaying it as if she were Vanna White.
“All that work for an ice cream?” Damian eyed the gift card she now clutched to her chest like the ultimate treasure. “Seems like a bit of a letdown if you ask me.”
She gasped in mocking outrage. “A letdown? For the sake of our friendship, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear those words come from your mouth. This isn’t for just any ice cream. This is for Sabirah’s Soft-Serve Shop, and if you don’t give it the respect it deserves, I’ll be keeping the ice cream all to myself later tonight.”
“Later, huh? You mean the lively night doesn’t end at bingo?”
“Not if you play your cards right.” She winked, and damn if her coy smirk didn’t do things to his insides. “But I’m afraid that requires you to get a bingo.”
“Then I guess I better up the ante and increase my chances.” He grabbed four more bingo cards, and keeping his eyes locked on hers, added them to the two already in front of him.
Greta, Henry, and Otis howled in laughter, Rose’s neighbor flashing her a wink and a soft, “I like him, hon. Much better than that pompous kitty cat with the pretentious sports car.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll keep him around for a bit.” As she brought down her stamper on her card, Rose’s hand froze. Her gaze snapped to him. “I didn’t mean … well, I did, but … you know … right?”
She looked stricken. Panicked.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, sliding his hand over hers and giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “Don’t worry, little witch. I was thinking about keeping you around for a bit, too.”
While Rose appeared to breathe a little easier, Damian’s breath stuck somewhere in his chest, expanding until it damn near throbbed with the building pressure … because those words were truer than he had realized.
Until now.
* * *
Rose started the evening with big plans, the first of which had been to watch Damian squirm when dealing with Mrs. Powers and the Restview Crew. The squirm never came and he’d taken it all in stride, so much so that Greta gave her official stamp of approval before they’d dropped her off at her apartment door a few minutes ago.
Her second plan—if Damian had somehow managed to pass the first—involved him, her, and the freshly laundered sheets she’d put on her bed earlier that morning. But now that she and Damian stepped into her apartment—blessedly alone for the first time that night—it took everything she had to suck down a yawn.
She tried stifling yet another one and her jaw cracked with the effort.
“Sorry,” she apologized when Damian shot her a curious look. “I just need some coffee and I’ll be good to go for the second half of our lively night.”
His lips twitched. “Unless your idea of lively involves your pillow, some shut-eye, and a few sweet dreams, I’m not so sure.”
“No, no. I’m good.” Coffee was the cure-all fix she needed … maybe with a shot of Red Bull. Vi swore by the stuff.
“Rose.” He caught her hand and hauled her back, his hands settling gently on her hips.
Her heart did a little flutter, and she couldn’t even blame it on a jolt of caffeine. Used to grumpy Damian, and a huge fan of orgasm-donor Damian, she’d been blindsided by this new version. The one that volleyed witty comebacks with her eighty-year-old neighbor and wanted to play one more game of bingo before they threw in the towel.
“I think I should tuck you into bed.” Damian’s regretful gaze flickered to her mouth.
She ran her hands over his taut chest. “And tuck yourself in right next to me, right?”
“Not sure much sleeping would happen in that scenario, although the offer is damn tempting.”
She opened her mouth to ask him to stay anyway, but stopped herself at the last minute.
Ask him to stay and do what? Fuck-buddy arrangements included one activity, and one activity only, and she’d already duped him into bingo night at the senior center. Not to mention her verbal slippage about keeping him around.
Talk about stiletto-in-mouth.
Doing the smart thing meant saying good night and climbing into bed as he suggested before she muddied the waters—and their understanding—even more than it already was. Yet she didn’t want him to walk out the door.