Page 17 of De-Witched

Goddamn it. She finally got it. Warlocks sucked.

She watched him, baring her teeth inwardly. He didn’t want her help, huh? Well, they’d just see about that. Gabriel Goodnight was going to learn that humans were actually decent people that should be treated with respect and would help out anyone, even a chilly asshole like him.

Leah didn’t need to punch his stupidly handsome face when she could kill him with kindness.

Or at least that had been the plan, but the next week proved to her than even a kind heart could hold out only so long against a pretentious dick. And if he wanted a crash course in Humans 101, he was about to learn why you shouldn’t piss one off.

5

It had been a week and Gabriel was ready to wave the white flag. Not just ready; in his mind he’d bought the material, sewn it together and planted it on a pole. Only Goodnight pride stopped him from hoisting it, but he doubted any other Goodnight had ever dealt with anything like this. Not only had he completely failed at being a competent bartender—messing up the drink orders, incorrectly counting change, dropping so many glasses he was pretty sure he’d have nothing left of his salary—but he’d utterly failed at keeping the Goodnight dignity intact.

And all because of one blonde human.

Leah. Even her name made his teeth grind together.

Admittedly, he hadn’t handled their first encounter well. Curse him for it, but it wasn’t like he was known for his smooth charm, even under normal circumstances. Hearing that Toil and Trouble had a secret human owner was far from normal. Excuse the hell out of him for needing a moment. For needing to ignore her.

Maybe he’d have managed that—if the human in question hadn’t been Leah Turner. Because ignoring Leah was proving to be impossible.

He couldn’t ignore the way his ears rang every night—seriously, how could one tiny human talk so much? And move so much; she was never still, bouncing in place or fidgeting with her hair, sending clouds of frothy coconut scent his way.

He couldn’t ignore her so-called jokes and the nickname she’d decided on for him—despite his insistence that his name was not Gabe—or the way she watched him make multiple mistakes over and over with a satisfied smile, crooning about being there to help him. Yeah, she’d help him. Into the path of an oncoming car.

He wasn’t going to even think about the few times he’d forgotten himself and used magic around her, something she’d thankfully missed or they’d all be in deep shit. He was just grateful he could add “unobservant” to her list of flaws—and there were many.

Worst of all, he couldn’t ignore that he’d been reduced to trading insults with her, all veiled of course, and each insult that made her eyes narrow proved immensely satisfying.

Like the time she’d suggested a costume day at work and he’d finally got the last word.

“Something fun on today’s agenda, Gabe!” she’d sung at him, a mean glint in her eye. “We’ve decided to have a theme night. How do you feel about The Wizard of Oz?”

“My name is Gabriel. And I don’t wear costumes.”

“Well, with that stick up your ass, I think we’ve found our scarecrow! Oh, Gabe, it was a joke. Lighten up.”

“I don’t wear costumes,” he’d repeated.

“All right. How about a Fifty Shades theme? You already wear suits all the time; you can be Christian Grey. How does that sound?”

“Will I get to gag you?”

Her lips had thinned and every square inch of him had crowed in victory.

Unbelievable. One week in the human world and he’d forgotten everything about being a Goodnight.

And it was all her fault.

A loud whoop by the large mounted TV drew his brooding attention from the glasses he’d been drying to the small crowd watching the sports game. He noted Leah, ridiculous cap concealing all but a few curls, slap hands with a burly human wearing jeans and a beige sweater.

She grinned, mouth moving fast as she gestured to the screen. The group of men around her laughed, all appreciation.

Sure, she might smell nice and, in some eyes, might be considered attractive, but he doubted they’d be so quick with their interest if they worked with her. That one in front most of all needed a wake-up call; he’d already found three excuses to touch her.

Gabriel rammed the next glass into the stack with his mouth a flattened line.

After a few seconds, she winked at burly beige sweater and swiveled to Gabriel. He stuffed his cloth inside the next glass, purposefully watching it twist. He didn’t care that she’d prefer to flirt than be at the bar but if she caught him looking, that would be it. She’d get that look in her eye, the gleam of battle. He’d sooner—

“Hey, cutie.”

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