Page 51 of Hexes and Exes

Blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, I shuffle into the kitchen that would be a chef’s wet dream. I don’t like to cook, so it doesn’t do anything for me. It isn’t the shiny appliances that catch my attention, though. It’s the set of bare broad shoulders standing in front of a coffee maker. I’m about to run and hide when Bram turns around and locks eyes with me.

All he’s wearing is a pair of low-slung sweats that are doing terrible things to my imagination. His bronze skin belies the fact that it’s the middle of winter. He’s got the kind of muscles that adorn magazines and scream to be photographed in black and white. I don’t even take photos except on my phone, but I’m itching to snap a pic. For artistic reasons, of course.

Then maybe I’d scribble all over his face. We did things last night.Things. He didn’t wipe away my kiss like the last time, but he did pull that mistake bullshit out again.

Bram’s eyes flicker down my body, and I’m suddenly aware of a whole lot of things. I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I yacked in the fica last night. There’s no fixing my bed head, even if I did sleep on the floor. Ambrose rounded up some clothes for me last night, but I’m no waif. The pants are tight across my hips and ass, while also being so long I have to keep flipping the ends to free my feet. Then there’s my boobs, which have been squished into place by a too tight shirt. Oh, and it’s cold, so my nipples are standing at attention. I wrap the blanket tighter around me, but stop short of tossing it over my face.

There’s a hint of a smile on Bram’s face that has me narrowing my eyes, but he speaks before I get a chance to tell him to fuck off.

“Do you want some coffee? Ambrose has some fancy machine, so I can make you a cup.” Bram points to the giant machine that belongs in a cafe. There are levers and knobs that are way beyond the on-off button I’m used to. I watch him, waiting to see which personality I’m going to get. Will he be a dick? Or a funny guy? A stupid martyr who keeps making “mistakes”?

“Uh, yeah. Please.”

The kitchen is completely separate from the rest of the house, probably harkening back to the days when there were servants and shit. I’m sort of surprised Ambrose doesn’t have a staff,actually. There’s a large island with seating on one side and a stove on the other. The refrigerator, sink, and coffeemaker in question are on the back wall, so Bram is turned away from me while he completes a complicated series of steps. The muscles of his shoulders bunch and flex as he moves, and it’s mesmerizing.

Or maybe I’m just that hungover.

“Ava.”

I blink in surprise when Bram looks over his shoulder at me. His gray eyes are curious and his dark hair is messy. He kissed me last night. He dragged me from the bar and pressed me up against the wall and touched me until I came all over his hand. My cheeks heat and I clear my throat. I guess we’re going to pretend nothing happened.

“Huh?” It’s then I realize he’s waiting for me to answer something.

“Milk?” He holds up a little pot of foam and I nod, too focused on his bicep to properly speak. It’s not fair that he’s this fucking hot. Maiden help me, I need to cool the fuck down. Think of totally unsexy things.

Making hot dogs. Ew. Gross.

“Why are you making that face?” Bram brushes back a strand of hair from his face, and there goes my mind in the gutter again.

Public toilet seats. A wrinkly old man peen. Yuck, but still, no thoughts about dicks. My eyes drift down to where Bram’s pants sit very low, a trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button to his…

I touched that dick last night. No! I gulp and have a panicked flurry of thoughts. Gas nozzles. Cream cheese. What the fuck is wrong with me. My mom. His mom. Wait…

“Your mom.”

Bram’s pouring the foamy milk into a large coffee mug, and it overflows as he stares at me.

My brain is not working at full capacity, but somewhere in my spiral of fucking weirdness, something Bram said recently slaps me in the face. It’s been irritating my subconscious since that night, but I couldn’t put my finger on the problem. I’ve only just now realized what has been bothering me.

“What about my mom?”

“You said your mom had a curse.”

Any levity left in Bram disappears in an instant. His gray eyes darken, literally. The shadows seep in at the edges and swirl there. A punch of pain hits me and I gasp. My magic is empathic, but I’ve never felt someone’s emotions this clearly before. Not even Stellan’s, and we’re fucking twins.

“Yes, it killed her.” Bram slides the coffee across the counter to me, and I almost shrink from his look. I roll my shoulders back and then remember I’m free boobing it and hunch back over.

“The Briar Witch made it so when the next generation is born, the curse is transferred to them. How did your mom still have her curse after you were born?”

“That’s not what it says.” Bram picks up the coffee he’s made for himself and glares at me over the top before he takes a sip. How can someone drink angrily?

“Um, yeah. It is. Why do you think all of our parents are no longer cursed.” I wave my hand in the general direction where the others are still sleeping.

“No…that’s…” Bram shakes his head, but his eyes are wild, like he’s sorting through years of information in just a few seconds. “It must be because my dad had a curse.”

“Both of Josephine's parents had a curse. When she was born, their curse was lifted.” My dad is the one who was cursed in our family. Still, when I was born, voila, no more curse. Over the years, I’ve talked about it with Josephine and Piper a lot. The fact that the shear act of having kids was to set them up for alife of pain and disappointment. When my curse first kicked in, I asked my mom why they would have children when they knew they would ultimately be in pain. She recited a line that I know now was straight from my father’s mouth.

“It’s our duty to continue the Vandenberg magical line. Sometimes power comes with sacrifices.”

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