Page 7 of Just a Friend for the Lion
He walks in like he owns the place, sniffs the air like he’s on a Food Network pilgrimage, and then—oh Goddess—he trips again.
That’s twice now.
This time is like, full-on, toe-catches-on-the-tile, arms-flailing stumble.
I blink.
Did that just happen?
Is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen aklutz?
I am not equipped for this.
“Don’t worry,” I call, trying to sound chill while my ovaries are plotting a hostile takeover. “We only charge extra if you fall into the pizza.”
He straightens, smooths a hand down his chest like he’s resetting the cool, and flashes a sheepish smile.
“Guess I was distracted by the scent.”
Oh, honey. If you’re distracted, imagine what I’m going through over here.
Then, as if summoned by Fate (or Witchcraft), I hear a familiar voice from the corner booth.
“MJ, darling, can we have a meat lovers’ pie? Well done I should think,” he says.
I glance over and spot the white-haired wizard himself—Uncle Uzzi.
The supernatural world’s answer to Cupid if Cupid were a matchmaking Witch with a flair for velvet capes and unsolicited life advice.
The new guy turns and heads that way like his heels are on fire.
And suddenly, I get the feeling I’ve just become part of something bigger than a little casual flirting at the pizza place.
Something fated.
Something magical.
Something completely out of my damn control.
And I can’t lie—I’m a little intrigued.
Also, if he orders extra sausage, I’m going to combust.
Chapter 3
Carter
Islide into the booth across from Uncle Uzzi, still trying to shake off the weird electric zing from locking eyes with the curvy goddess behind the counter.
She had flour on her apron, tomato sauce on her wrist, and danger written all over her hips.
Inappropriate.
Irresistible.
Human.
And definitely off-limits.
