Page 11 of The Trouble With Spells
The word was garbled and so low I barely heard myself. Trying again, I finally managed, “Can I help you find something?”
There. I did it. I spoke to Michael fucking Endicott. And the world hadn’t ended, and I hadn’t died of embarrassment.
I could do this. I was a grown ass man now. So was Michael. Just a mere mortal, nothing more. No need for me to completely forget how to function in his presence.
Looking up from his perusal of the various cutesy witch knick knacks we had, he smiled slightly. “I’m just looking, thanks.”
Pushing my glasses up further on my nose, I nodded. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
Michael seemed completely out of place, wandering the display aisles. When he reached the last one, which was closest to where my tarot reading area was set up, he took a few seconds to scan the signage hanging on the wall above my table that advertised my rates for the various readings I did.
Finally, when he had looked at just about everything in the store, and then consulted something on his phone, he started towards my counter.
“Uh, hi,” he said, his voice a tad deeper than it had been in school. Deeper and smooth, like the slide of expensive bourbon going down my throat.
Swallowing hard, I pushed aside the image of me down on my knees behind the counter, something else of Michael’s, hot and smooth, sliding down my throat.
That was just a wishful fantasy, and not some kind of vision for the future.
Tugging at the collar of my long-sleeved t-shirt, I wondered why it was so blazing hot in here. Had Gran kicked the furnace up again before they had left? The woman liked to keep the temperature set as high as she could get it.
When I still didn’t say anything–because words once again escaped me–Michael’s smile faltered a little at the corners, and he looked uncomfortable and a slightly unsure of himself.
Taking a good long look at him, I noticed the dark circles forming beneath his eyes, and the slightly…rumpled look of him. Not bad, but not how I always pictured him in my head.
In school, he was always put together, in the latest styles and fashion. In the papers, he was always in a suit and tie that probably cost more than all of my belongings combined. The casual jeans and hoodie weren’t a bad look on him, at all, but I could tell he wasn’t at his best.
He looked…troubled.
He ran a hand through his rumpled hair again, mussing it more. It was kinda sexy, the just tumbled out of bed look,and I found myself liking it more than his usual artfully styled look.
Hex being Hex, and a lover of anyone who would give him the slightest bit of attention, chose that moment to jump up on the counter, landing practically under Michael’s nose. The poor man startled, letting out a very high pitched, undignified scream. One hand landed over his heart, the other covered his mouth, and he looked as startled as me by the sound he had made.
Hex, who couldn’t be bothered to be upset by anything, rolled around on the counter, purring so loud the neighbors probably heard him over the storm. Batting his green eyes up at Michael, the implication that he was to be petted was loud and clear.
“And there’s a black cat. Because, of course, there’s a black cat,” he mumbled.
“His name is Hex,” I offered, finally able to string half a sentence together. “He’s my familiar.”
His eyes widened comically at my lame joke, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh, really?”
“No, of course not. He’s just a rescue.”
He snorted, looking slightly relieved. “Can I pet him?”
“Yeah. He’s never met a stranger.”
Michael reached a tentative hand down and ran it across Hex’sfur. “He’s so soft!”
“Yeah.” My conversation skills could use some work. No wonder I hadn’t had a date in…well, we didn’t need to discuss that right now.
Get it together, Callum!
“Um, so, I was wondering if you sell–” he paused, looking over his shoulder at the empty store like customers had somehow come in without us noticing and would hear him. His hand stopped petting Hex, who unrepentantly batted at his hand with a paw, until Michael started stroking his hand over the soft black fur.
And why was I mesmerized by the motion, wondering what that hand would feel like stroking over my skin? My dick twitched in my jeans, and I was thankful I had left my shirt untucked. Sporting a hard on for a customer was probably bad for business.
When he didn’t continue, I prodded, “If I sell…?”
