Page 21 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
His smile was crooked, almost shy. “We could start over. For real. Do it right this time.” He tucked the sheet around our waists, as if the thin cotton could shield us from the mess of the last few days. “We could go on a date. Like normal people.”
I snorted. “I’m not sure there’s a universe where we’re normal people.”
He grinned, showing his brilliant flat white teeth. “I think we can manage a normal date.”
We lay there, the absurdity of it sinking in—two idiots who couldn’t go a single day without detonating each other’s emotional landmines. But somehow, the idea of starting over felt less terrifying in the aftermath of mutual destruction. Like maybe, once all the bullshit was burned away, we could build something honest on the ashes.
“Okay,” I said finally, the word fragile but true. “We start over.” I reached for his hand, weaving my fingers through his. “But I’m warning you now: I’m horrible at first dates. I getnervous and say dumb things and usually spill something on myself.”
Rick squeezed my hand, the pressure nearly cracking my knuckles, but in a nice way. “Spilling things is fine. I stain everything I wear within five minutes. Occupational hazard.” He paused, looking suddenly nervous. “Uh, so, I know we said we’re starting over—like, emotionally—but…” He trailed off, biting his lower lip, which frankly only made him look less intimidating and more like an overgrown teen at his first school dance. “Does that mean we have to wait for, um, physical stuff?”
I burst out laughing. “Are you asking if we can have sex while we’re dating like normal people?”
He bit his lip and looked anywhere but my face, obviously embarrassed. This was an odd convo, especially considering we were still lying naked together.
“I mean, not every day. Unless you want to,” he blurted. “Or you don’t want to. You set the pace, I just—” He stopped, then added miserably, “I’m real bad at waiting.”
I kept laughing, the endorphins and oxytocin and whatever else made a person feel safe and stupid and good turning me into a human giggle-loop.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” I said, touching the side of his face, watching him go pink at the compliment.
“I’m not,” he protested, which made it even better, because he was. “I’m, like, objectively not.”
“Objectively, you’re a minotaur with a heart and a very, very magnificent—” I cut myself off, blushing for the first time in years. “Never mind.”
He cocked a brow and gave a wolfish smile that I was pretty sure he practiced in the mirror when no one was watching. “If you’re referring to my equipment, you could just say it. I know I’m not human, after all. Biological advantages and all that.” Hesaid it with a mix of pride and bashfulness that made my insides go warm and loose.
“I prefer the phrase ‘superior craftsmanship,’” I deadpanned, and his laugh was a deep, full-body thing that shook the mattress and made me giggle in spite of how ridiculous we both were.
We spent the next hour sprawled out and aimless, playing a game of gentle one-upmanship: who could tell the dirtiest joke, who could do the worst celebrity impression, who could come up with the best fake name for the new shop. He suggestedFrom Seed to Sorrowwith such earnestness that I almost believed him, and then collapsed into helpless laughter when I threatened to commission a neon sign.
Eventually we both drifted off, exhausted from the events of the past few days.
Chapter ten
Rick
Iwokeupinher bed, sunlight knifing past the old curtains and dappling my skin with gold. It was too warm and too soft, the mattress springy in that way only a brand-new bed could be. For a split second, disoriented and dumb, I could’ve sworn it was my own place—until the scent of Lea hit me, honest and human and bright as a bouquet. I blinked, working the last of sleep from my eyes.
Lea was sprawled beside me, half-buried in the quilt, her curls a halo of wild around her face. She slept with her mouth open, arm thrown across my chest, drooling a little in the corner, and I’d never seen anything so perfect. The sun picked out the freckles on her shoulder.
I watched her chest rise and fall, steady but shallow. It took a minute to realize her hand was still on my heart, fingers splayed and perfectly still, as if she needed to make sure it kept beating. I smiled at the thought, then, unable to help myself, brushed a single curl from her cheek. Her nose scrunched and she made a noise, swatting at my hand like a bug, but didn’t wake up.
It was well past noon. The light was deeper, fuller, the sort that made you think you’d slept through a whole season instead of just a few hours.
She roused gradually, grumbling into the pillow, then blinked at me with bleary suspicion. “You’re still here?” she croaked, voice full of sleep and surprise. “I was half-convinced you’d Houdini again.”
I snorted, tucking my head into the pillow to hide how much it stung. “I don’t plan on running this time,” I said, softer than I meant to.
She propped herself up on one elbow, surveying me with a mixture of skepticism and something warmer. “Good,” she said, and the word glowed in my chest. “Because if you did, I’d have to tell the entire downtown that you cry after sex. And not in a cute way.”
I barked a laugh, rolling toward her. “You wouldn’t.”
She leveled a finger at me. “Try me. I’m already on a first name basis with the coffee shop and two-thirds of the construction crew. I have more social firepower than you think.”
I considered this, then rolled onto my back, fingers laced behind my head, and let her enjoy her victory. “I surrender,” I said. “But if you’re going to destroy my reputation, at least let me buy you a real dinner first.”
She snorted, then eyed me warily. “Are you asking me on a date?”
