Page 63 of Sigils & Spells

A sudden laugh escaped my lips before I could control it. I clamped both hands over my mouth.

I wasn’t the only one to laugh, with a chuckle Darren stepped up and dropped his hand onto Merle’s shoulder.

The sudden burn of a blush hit my cheeks. I wasn’t sure why I was blushing.

“Did you just call yourself a prick?” I asked.

“No, sweetheart, he just tried to warn you about his needle dick.”

Merle shrugged the other man off. “I was attempting to twist the bard’s words to the situation. Shakespeare was a natural at witty banter and scathing barbs.”

“And this is neither,” Darren proclaimed. He slid into the booth next to Merle, forcing him to move over. Merle did so begrudgingly. “Where’s your shadow?”

“He wasn’t invited,” Merle grumbled. “And neither were you.”

I enjoyed watching him get defensive of our time together. At least that’s what I hoped was happening.

“Since when do I need an invitation?” Darren asked with high ego and a higher lack of awareness.

I gave him a look. I hoped I had you dumbass all over my face the way I pursed my lips and knit my brow.

“What? Oh, shit, this is a date. You’re on a date.” He practically leapt out of the booth as if it were on fire. “Why the fuck did you come here on a date?”

There were only a handful of restaurants in Duchamp, where else were we to go?

Darren patted Merle in the center of his chest and looked at me. “My guy here’s a stud. Forget everything I said about needle dick. Hung like a fucking horse.”

He leaned in close and stage whispered at the side of Merle’s head. “I’ve got her all warmed up for you. You’re a shoe in. Don’t fuck this up.”

It wasn’t exactly the kind of talking me up that was necessary. My gut dropped as I feared it would only remind Merle of what Darren and I had done.

Merle shot a glare at Darren’s back as he retreated to the other side of the restaurant.

Merle looked back at me and stared for a moment. “I have completely forgotten what we were talking about.”

“Me too,” I giggled like some kind of a kid. I slid my hand over my face and wanted to fade.

“You seem younger than I think you are when you laugh like that.”

I inwardly groaned. Had I just projected my thoughts of being a giggly preteen into his head, and now he was picking up on it? Time for damage control.

“It’s the chubby cheeks and good genetics, plus bathing in the tears of my enemies really helps keep up the youthful appearance.”

“I wouldn’t say you have chubby cheeks.”

I lifted my brows and titled my head. If he said I wasn’t fat…

“I’d say you have a heart shaped face, with a pointy little chin.” He reached across the table and softly pinched my chin.

I felt my lower lip tremble. It was a good thing I was sitting because I lost knee function. I always wanted someone to like my stupid chin. It was pointy. It jutted out at the end of a fairly strong jawline for a woman. And I had chubby cheeks that people liked to squish together, forcing me to look like some kind of goldfish with puckered lips. I had endured that face squish my entire youth. And even as an adult, far too many people felt comfortable squishing my face. But no one had ever treated my chin like it was cute.

“You seem more like the bathe in the blood of virgins type, but I can see tears of your enemies working.” He flashed me a toothy grin, and whatever piss-poor lame flirting we had managed to achieve before being interrupted was now back.

We sat in that booth until the waitress told us they were closing up, and we needed to go.

Merle walked me home, and I kept us dry from the cold rainy weather.

I opened my door and stepped in. He didn’t follow.

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