Page 147 of Shroom for Improvement

Claude must have felt the same because he asked, “What time is it?”

I tilted my head backwards to look through the gaps in the cavern wall. “Evening. Probably eight, or nine. It’s difficult to be certain.”

“Is your phone with your shoes?”

My phone! “Oh, my gods, I have so much to tell you.”

“I also have a lot of gossip. We should go back to the house and get changed. Get ready for the ritual.”

I crowded into Claude’s space. “I know we can’t talk about the ritual, but I just want to say how excited I am for it.”

Claude laughed, then kissed me, long and slow and sensual. And my body—mostly my dick—responded. I rocked my hips against him, but he pushed me away.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“Your ass is wet, too,” I bit back.

“I didn’t piss myself!” he blurted.

I snort-laughed. “Fuck, I love you.” I pulled him close again, and planted a kiss on his forehead because if we kept this game up, it would lead to somewhere we couldn’t risk going so near to the ritual.

I knew the Earth Bells liked to watch, but we needed Claude fully loaded for sunrise.

“We can go through this tunnel so we don’t have to get wet again,” Claude said.

“But my shoes are on the other side of the waterfall.”

“There they are.” Claude pointed to the ground, where my trainers hovered three inches in the air, moving towards me.

The Earth Bells had fetched them and brought them to me, and okay, they were very damp now, but I was suddenlybursting with emotion again. I pulled them on, and Claude, led by some of the mushroom folk, showed me the way out through the tunnels.

It was pitch black inside, my eyes adjusting only to the silhouettes Claude and the Earth Bells made—a blacker black, denser against the dark of the walls. From touch alone, I learned the tunnels’ floors, walls, and ceilings were lined with something smooth—smoother than rocks—and bumpy, and I hoped to gods it wasn’t teeth. We had to crawl most of the way until the shadows became less heavy and I could stand, though still crouching, inside a grotto.

Shells. That was what lined the walls. In the evening sun, the shells glittered like opals and citrines and rose quartz.

I willed myself not to cry again, but it was all so incredibly beautiful.

Mushroom folk, living in a shell-lined underground labyrinth.

A sentient mushroom palace that catered to my every whim.

A new family of bonkers but lovable folk. Jasper aside.

Claude. My boyfriend.

I couldn’t go back to Remy.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

We bid the Earth Bells good evening and followed the compass to the house, where we found Oggy, Willow, and John passed out in the dining room in various states of undress, and Mrs Ziegler reading a travel brochure. She stuffed it down the side of the cushion when she saw us.

“Figured it out?” she said. But didn’t give us time to answer before she nodded and said, “Good, good. I’m off to bed then.” Then she left.

It was eleven p.m. when we reached Claude’s room. We stripped off and showered together, focusing on washing ourbodies, and only pausing to kiss now and then. We tried to keep this as touch-free as possible, even though both our dicks were clearly ready for more.

We dressed. Claude put on a beautiful linen suit, but left his jacket off. Since the suitcase with all my clothes was still in the rental monster truck a few miles down the road, Claude loaned me some more of his too-short pyjama pants. He fetched a hoodie that he’d tucked under his pillow. It was one of mine. MyDon’t Be a Spore Loserhoodie.

“It smells like you,” he admitted, his cheeks glittering with his silver freckles.

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