Page 38 of Faking with the Fae King

“Yes! Did you know tight pants on a man will reduce his sperm count? How tight are your new boyfriend’s pants?”

I glance over at the skin-tight leather cupping Severin’s ass. “Deliciously tight” would be the truth, but admitting it will only send my mother off on a sperm-health tangent. “They’re not tight,” I lie.

“Oh, good. So did you try the washing-machine trick yet?”

“Mommm.” God, how is she able to make me whine like a teenager? I’m a grown-ass woman! “Did you find out anything about witches in our family?”

“Not yet, but I’ll keep looking,” she says. “I read another article about sperm—”

Severin turns and walks back toward me, his long legs eating the distance. Exactly how good is fae hearing? The last thing I freaking need is him hearing my mother talk about my sex life!

“Mom, sorry. I’ve got to go,” I cut across her, raising my voice to drown out the rest of her sentence. Then I play my trump card, using the one thing guaranteed to get her off the phone quickly. “Severin’s waiting for me.”

“Oh! You go be with your young man, sweetheart!” she chirps.

The joy in her voice makes me feel extra guilty for quasi-lying to her. “Love you, Mom.”

Severin takes in my flushed face, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Or at least it is until he takes me into his arms and wraps his shadow tendrils around me. My butterflies take flight at the same time he does as he flies us up past the top of the tree and through the skylight, which swings open in a pulse of hismagic.

The night air is crisp, and I snuggle closer to his warmth, even as a part of my mind hisses about keeping my distance.

Stop being stupid, I hiss back. I can’t keep my distance while we’re flying together or he’ll drop me. It’s logic and physics and stuff. It’s gotnothingto do with being attracted to him. Nothing at all.

Beyond the dark edge of the forest, Ferndale Falls spreads out in front of us in a tapestry of lights painted across the landscape.

“It’s so beautiful like this,” I breathe.

“It is,” Severin agrees, his deep voice vibrating through me as his shadows press me even closer.

When I glance at him, he’s looking at me instead of the town, and the butterflies give a few hopeful wing flaps.

Stop it, I tell them. You’re not helping.

They don’t listen—theyneverlisten, the freaking little menaces—and keep fluttering.

We fly over the town green, the familiar clock of Town Hall ringing the hour. I give directions, leading him to my cottage, close to the edge of the forest. Since Ferndale Falls puts the small in small town, it takes only a minute for us to land in my front yard.

My little one-story home is painted a soft yellow, with natural slate tiles covering the roof and a stone chimney rising from the left. It’s pretty and cozy, the inside filled with cream-colored walls, warm oak floors, overstuffed comfy furniture, colorful rugs, and lots of cute knickknacks. I adore my little cottage, but it’s certainly nothing like Severin’s palace.

I unlock the door and flip on the entry light, hesitating in the doorway. Do I invite him in? I’ve been inside the public parts of the palace, but the thought of Severin in my little house feelswaymore intimate.

He makes the decision for me, backing away and tipping his head. “I bid you goodnight.”

“Night.” But he launches himself upwards so quickly my goodbye meets empty air.

He had no reason to stay—there’s no one here to put on a show for. I try to remind myself it’s for the best. Keeping my distance will be easier with actual, you know,distance.

Finn yips and races out of the trees. “You’re here.Finally.”

I crouch down, wrapping my arms around my familiar as he gives my chin a lick. Then my stomach lets out a loud growl, and I go to scrounge for dinner in my cheery, yellow kitchen.

“Peanuts?” Finn says hopefully, dancing around my feet as I open the cupboard and pull out a can of soup.

“Sure, bud, we’ll have peanuts.” I got a bag of unsalted ones just for him.

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