Page 69 of A Match Made in Hell
I blink and look away.
Sath puts the bottle down. ‘I should thank you,’ he says. ‘For tonight.’
This gets my attention. ‘You should?’
‘It’s been a long time since I did anything like this.’ He offers me a soft, sad smile. It finally makes my overactive heart slow, the organ twisting in my chest instead, like that smile has wrenched it out of place. ‘You help me forget everything that goes on . . . down there.’
‘Well,’ I tell him, very seriously, ‘that’s because I’m your spanner.’
Sath’s mouth drops open. ‘Pardon?’
‘I’m your spanner,’ I say again. Then, leaning forward, I whisper, ‘I’m going to tighten your bolt.’
This time, he splutters. ‘Pardon?’
‘No. Wait.’ I frown. ‘I’mlooseningyour bolt.’
He stares at me, and then his whole face blooms into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen while his shoulders wobble with laughter. I beam at him. Like I said, I’m his bolt. Screwdriver. DIY item I’ve never used. Whatever. I’m growing hungry. I’m pretty sure there’s a takeaway down the road, and they sell the most delicious chicken nuggets.
I think I may have drunk more than I thought. And I don’t think Sath has drunk enough – he’s still got the reflexes to swipe my shot glass out of the way when I’m an inch from knocking it off the table. Through my dizziness and desire for nuggets, panic flares. This was my chance to get answers, and I got distracted.
I need to do something. Get the conversation back on track. One lasttruth or shot.I should try again to learn about his concession. Find out, for real, what he’s getting out of helping me. But Sath’s laughing, and I want to touch him very badly, so instead of asking anything sensible, I lean forward and press my hand to his chest. ‘What’s in here?’
Sath goes still. Uh-oh. Possibly this was stupid. But I have toknow. He’s so human sitting here next to me, like we’re a normal couple on a date that’s going very, very well. I need some kind of confirmation he’s capable of feeling the same.
Not that it matters. Obviously.
All the warmth is lost from his voice when he says, ‘What did you say?’
Now would be the time to move away and pretend I was making some dumb joke, but his gaze has me frozen. ‘You heard me,’ I say, keeping my hand where it is, splayed across his jumper, feeling his warmth seep through the wool.
And it’s there.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
‘You’re human,’ I whisper. ‘You’re not a demon. You’re not one of them.’
He gapes at me. ‘You were checking if I was ademon?’
‘What else would I be checking for?’ I frown. ‘The Sorter mentioned they didn’t have hearts, and . . . you’re their ruler. You have all these powers. I thought, maybe, you might be one too. But not really. Because you’re nicer than they are. I was pretty sure you were human. And you are. Which is great.’ I’m definitely babbling now. Anything to avoid admitting the full truth which is: if my heart is doing somersaults, I want to check yours is too.
I’m pleased to confirm it is.
‘Great is a stretch,’ Sath mutters, rubbing his chest. Then he freezes. ‘Why do you care what I am?’
‘I don’t,’ I lie, breaking the rules of my own game. It shouldn’t matter one jot what he is. What he can feel.
But it does.
Itdoes.
His eyes flare the moment he recognises my lie.
‘Willow . . .’ His other hand lands on my knee, skimming the bare skin beneath the hem of my dress. I shuffle towards him– even like this, we’re not close enough. His breath is warm against my face; it quickens as his hand trails upwards, pushing the skirt dangerously high. My fingers find his jumper again, fisting the material and tugging him closer.
And then he audibly inhales, releasing my leg and sitting back. He nudges the tequila bottle to the other side of the table as though it’s solely responsible for our current situation. ‘We should go.’
I don’t understand. This isn’t what I expected. It’s not what Iwanted. ‘But –’
