Page 76 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“What does this do?” She breathed the words, a genuine question, but also like she knew everything in his skipping, cowardly heart.
“Jewitches believe it can be cleansing and promote peace.” He paused for a moment to commit the sight of her to memory, here in the dimly lit house of death. “Also, you’re beautiful, and you smell like lavender sometimes.” His words were slipping, along with his control, as though the emotions he’d kept locked below the surface would soon burst forward. He would tell her. That he could easily sacrifice ever really touching. He wanted to profess his love, even here in the cemetery. He’d gladly risk death to make it official. To be her partner, whatever she wanted that to look like. He had to tell her. “I’d keep your heart warm, Vickie.”
“I.” She paused and a blush rose to her cheek, pinkening skin under whorls of freckles. “It’s just my conditioner.”
Az wanted to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger and show her just how beautiful he thought she was, but they had a coffin to desecrate, an object to steal, and a witch’ssoul to summon. Also, it would kill him, so it would have to wait. He couldn’t just lick her fucking face until he died when they were supposed to be raising the dead.
“Here,” Vickie said, pointing to the most recent entry into the house of death. “?‘Tina Rosehill, daughter of Mordecai and Leeara, beloved cousin of Cal and Sienna. 1995–2021.’?”
“Shit, she died young.”
“Yeah,” said Vickie. “That’s the nightmare. Die before you have a chance to do things in life.” Her fingernails dug into her hands, kept firmly at her sides, hard enough that he could see the muscle in her wrist clenching where the sleeve of her coat ended.
His heart cracked for her. They were two imperfect, broken people.
Why couldn’t they just reassemble the shards of themselves together?
“So,” Vickie began, patting around the edges of the stone blocking Tina Rosehill’s final resting place. “What did your mother mean when she said she knows what’s in your wallet?”
Panicking a little, Az pushed his hand against his thigh to check for the bulge of his wallet. It was there, and his pants were tight enough to keep it close.
“Nothing, really. A condom.”
“That’snotwhat she meant. Though, do you really carry a condom in your wallet?”
“No. And to be honest, it’s been months since I even needed one. Before my birthday. And putting them in a wallet wears down condoms, by the way. It’s not safe. As long as there’s one nearby, I can summon it.”
“Wait, you haven’t had sex sinceJune?” She was attempting to wedge the stone lid off, and it gave slightly, but didn’t come loose. “I want to see if we can get this off without breaking it,” she explained.
“I mean, yeah, it’s been a while.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I definitely haven’t been interested in anyone else since we… you know. Got to know each other again recently.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She stepped back, examining the mausoleum wall. The metal handle had bled a little, staining the pale stone a greenish hue, as though it had been there much longer than Tina had been interred. Vickie cleared her throat. “I think you’re going to have to use magic. It’s not budging.” She paused, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “Have you ever stolen a condom in summoning?”
He shoved a hand into his pocket, absentmindedly snapping with the other to continue spelling extra wards around them for the violation of Tina Rosehill’s peaceful resting place.
“Well?” She was staring at him again, her eyes wide and her nose scrunched up a little bit, and he wanted to pepper those freckles with kisses until he got to her pouty mouth, now twisted slightly in disappointment.
“Yes. Fine. I did steal a condom—once—and I feel terrible about it.” He snapped twice, gradually loosening the stone before trying it again.
“When?” Mischief sparkled in her eyes.
“You want to know this right now?” He jiggled the stone, and then tried again. Still nothing.
“I do, yes,” said Vickie, brushing a little bit of dust off her fluffy pink coat.
He sighed, running a hand over his face, and then regretting the nervous tic when his fingers smelled of stone and metal. He paused for a second, collecting himself with the story.
“It was senior year. Alison Price.”
“Alison Price? When did you hook up with Alison Price?”
“You remember the ill-fated Halloween party?”
“Ah yes, Anya Stein threw up in my hair while I was going down on them,” said Vickie, brushing at her hair now and grimacing.
“Yeah. That one. Anyway, before shit got out of control and it shut down, I was all emo.”
“Typical,” said Vickie solemnly, hands on the hips of her high-waisted jeans. Her little rhinestone belly button ringglistened in the stream from the flashlight, which she was spinning in one hand.
