Page 7 of The Secret Life of a Witch

“Why, though? That part was never explained to me.”

“Sorry, but I promised Peyton I wouldn’t tell.” I offer him an apologetic smile.

He grimaces. “Can’t we at least search for another place for her? Four people in a two-bedroom house is too much. And I hate sleeping on the sofa.” He juts out his lip. “It’s lumpy.”

“It’s not lumpy. It’s got character. And you used to say it was comfortable,” I tell him, pushing his jutted lip back in. “I thinkyou’re just being pouty because you don’t want Peyton living with us.”

“Maybe. But I do miss having a bed to sleep in.”

“You can always sleep in my bed if you want.” The words leave my lips without any forethought, and I instantly want to retract them. Not because I dislike the idea of him sharing a bed with me—under the right circumstances, that’d be a dream come true—but I’m fairly sure I’d end up lying awake all night, haunted by sexual frustration. And what happens if my hands wander and do things while I am sleeping?

Before I can joke off the remark, his eyes light up.

“Seriously?” he asks. “Because that’d be awesome.”

Please, please, witches in the sky, kill me now.

I put on my best fake smile. “Yep, mi casa es su casa. Or, I guess, mi habitación es su habitación.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and smiles down at me, making those butterflies go all sorts of mad crazy. “You really are a great friend, Eva.”

Aw, the friend zone, a place I begrudgingly am forced to call my home.

My smile remains shining on the outside, but on the inside, I’m a clusterfuck of frownie faces. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see if you’re still saying that when I hog all the covers and take up three-quarters of the bed.”

“That’s perfectly okay with me,” he assures. “And it beats waking up every morning to Opal’s brownie licking my face.”

A giggle slips past my lips. “I’m pretty sure Starry isn’t going to stop doing that just because you’re sleeping in my room.”

“Yeah, it will,” he insists. “Because I’ll lock the door.”

“It can pick locks.”

“Since when?”

“For as long as I’ve known it.”

My eyelashes threaten to flutter as he tucks another strand of hair behind my ear.For the love of all things magical and sparkly, if he knew what his touches did to me, he’d probably never touch me again.

“It usually doesn’t do it too often because it’s not easy, and the damn thing’s lazier than a fat cat on Thanksgiving. But I’m thinking with you, it’s going to put in an A amount of effort into getting inside the bedroom where you lay your pretty head to sleep.”Whoops! I so didn’t mean for the pretty part to slip out.

His brows knit. “Why? I mean, I know my head is superprettyand everything”—his lips quirk—“but I don’t get why that’d be motivation for the brownie to pick a lock.”

I smash my lips together, restraining a laugh. “You really don’t know, huh?”

He shakes his head, his confusion doubling.

“Because it thinks you’re sexy and wants your body.” I shimmy my hips around, doing a little dance, which I’m sure looks ridiculous since I’m still pinned to the floor.

He blasts me with an unamused look. “It does not.”

“Does, too. I even saw it checking out your butt the other day.”

“You’re such a little liar.”

I shake my head, drawing an X over my heart. “I swear, I’m not lying.”

Realization slowly kicks in. “So, what you’re saying is, for the past month, a brownie—who I’ve probably changed in front of at least a half a dozen times—has been licking my face every morning because it?—”

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