Page 3 of The Secret Life of a Witch

I move my fingers away from my wand. “Oh, it’s just you.”

Hunter—aka one of my best friends in the entire world, who I’m secretly in love with—presses his hand to his chest, pretending to feign hurt. “Just me? You wound my heart deeply, Evalee.”

“Easy, wannabe Shakespeare. I reached my cheesiness tolerance with you last night.” I sneak a glance at my reflection on the steel table. My long, light brown hair is a tangled mess, bags reside under my iridescent eyes, and my skin looks paler than a ghost. I look like a hot mess.

He taps his finger to his lips, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why? What happened last night?”

I turn my back to him, mostly to hide any hurt that might be rising in my expression. “Like you don’t know.”

He moves up behind me, his arm brushing against my hip as he rests his hand on the table beside me. “I said a lot of cheesy things last night, so please enlighten me on which one you’re talking about.”

“All of them.” I make eye contact with my sister, and I swear the redness in her eyes has faded into a sea of pity. “You’re seriously the biggest flirt I’ve ever met.”

“Hey, I thought you liked that about me?” His tone carries a hint of playfulness. “If you want me to stop, you can always say so.”

My sister gives me a pressing look, silently begging me to do it.

Ha, yeah right. The last thing my popular, adored by everyone, magically skilled, too gorgeous and charming for his own good friend wants to hear is that his spacey, uncoordinated, average looking, hangs out with dead bodies in the basement friend has secretly been in love with him since she was fourteen. Yep, I bet he’d be doing cartwheels and shaking pompoms right after he ran away screaming.

“If you want to flirt, then go ahead.” My eyelids involuntarily shut as his breath dusts across my neck.

For a lunatic of a moment, I get lost in the scent of his cologne, the feel of his chest brushing against my back, and the daydreaming images of me backing him into the wall and crashing my lips against his. Then I open my eyes to see my dead sister watching me curiously, and reality douses over me, reminding me of who I am—a person Hunter sees as a friend.

Clearing my throat, I step forward to put some distance between us, and then turn around to face him. “Just don’t comecomplaining to me about all the girls stalking you. It’s your own damn fault for leading them on.”

His lips part in shock. “How the hell do I lead them on?”

Jeez. Guys can be so dense sometimes.

“By flirting with them and telling them they’re pretty.”

He aims a finger at me, seeming a little irritated, which is strange for Hunter since he’s usually all jokes and smiles. “Hey, I don’t tell them they’re pretty.”

“You so do.”

“Do not.” His lips expand into a charming grin as he sweeps his chin length blond hair out of his eyes. “In fact, you’re the only girl I’ve ever told is pretty.”

I lightly pinch his chest, causing him to chuckle. “Don’t try to charm your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying to charm my way out of anything. I’m giving you a compliment,” he insists, stealing a bit of my cereal. Then his face bunches in disgust. “That’s super soggy.”

I try to breeze over his compliment and not let my stomach turn into a bundle of crazy butterflies. As much as I’d love to get all girlie, girlie,ah, that’s so sweet, let me swoon now,I’ve known Hunter since middle school, and he’s been a natural flirt pretty much since freshman year when he went from a gangly, bean pole to a lean, too-hot-for-his-own-good hottie.

Don’t blush or give away any sign of swooniness. Focus on the conversation, Evalee. Don’t be a spaz and lose your best friend.

I take the spoon away from him and toss it back into the bowl. “Well, it has been sitting in the bowl for, like, an hour.”

He spits the cereal out on the floor then wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “What the hell, Evalee? That’s disgusting. Why do you even have it down here?”

“What? You didn’t have to eat it.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve warned me not to when you saw me reaching for the spoon.”

I bite back a grin. “I didn’t really think about it. I mean, I took a bite, like, ten minutes ago, and it tasted okay. So maybe you’re just super soggy-cereal sensitive.”

“That’s not even a real thing.” He gives me a tolerant look. “And for future reference, if cereal has been sitting in a bowl for even half an hour, it’s probably soggy, and you should warn your most awesome friend in the world not to eat it, or he might just lose some of his awesomeness.”

“Why? Does soggy cereal have magical, awesome stealing powers?” I joke.

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