I placed my palms on his chest to push away but hesitated.
His hands shot to mine, peeling them away from him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Your hands are cold. They’re making my nipples pebbly.”
I arched my brows, shoulders easing because I’d been handed A Gift, and I mustn’t squander it. There was a lot to dissect. A lot to ridicule. I settled on “Pebbly?” as I held back a laugh and tried not to look at our entwined fingers.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice soft now. His eyelids fluttered as he glanced at our hands. “Pebbly. Like, all prickly and hard. Like I’m a heaving-bosomed countess being seduced by a wealthy rake or something. It’s a well-known word. Stop acting like I’m the weird one for knowing a normal word.”
“So, wait, I’m the rake in this scenario, and you and your nips are helpless to my charms?” I couldn’t fight it anymore. I snorted, helpless laughter gurgling forth.
He detached his fingers from mine. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Yes,” I said, wiping a new kind of tear from my eye. “It’s my working theory that, if life isn’t a joke, then it’s a tragedy.”
He shook his head, and the tension between us eased. We started walking again. It was odd how he seemed to grow more scared when I tried to comfort him. He only relaxed once I started teasing him again, distracting him from danger.
“When I thinkpebbles, I think fish tanks and gravel roads,” I mused, following him through the woods. “I can see how it’s an erotic word. Nothing gets me going like a gravel road.”
He kept his back to me as he ducked under a limb. “I’m so happy you took nothing our wise mentor said about kindness to heart today.”
“That’s some awfully pebbly dirt you’re standing on. Don’t get too excited.”
I kept stealing glances at his profile, at the way dying sunlight danced over the exquisite angles of his face. And a plan began to emerge.
Screw the universe. I’d save the world my way, quick and dirty, and get Bryce home safely, whatever it took. Maybe I wasn’t a hero, but that meant I didn’t have to worry about things like honor or morals. I’d fight dirty. I’d use all the tricks in the book. My methods wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d get the job done.
I scooped a rock off the ground and sidled up to Bryce. “In case you ever get lonely,” I practically purred, pressing the stone into his palm.
Maybe I couldn’t be a hero, but I could be a hell of an antihero.
When we made it back to the castle, Amy updated us on the search for Winston. There were no new clues, which only made the urgency in my gut build. I had to get a handle on this Chosen One thing, and quickly.
I’d meant to lightly stalk the king, but he didn’t come to dinner.It seemed suspicious to me, but all his staff insisted he was in bed and would not leave his chambers until morning, so I supposed I’d have to continue my investigation tomorrow.
We met in Bryce’s room after dinner without addressing the fact we were about to sleep together for a second time. We were like the sheepdog and the wolf in that old cartoon, shaking hands after clocking out from a long day of fighting. I had my reasons, but I wasn’t sure what his were.
My plan was simple. If Amy wanted me to be nice, I’d be nice.
Very nice.
Forget pushing Bryce away when he repeatedly keptbothering. Instead, latch on to it. Encourage it. Maybe I wasn’t allowed to make friends with the other people in this world, but if Bryce found me fascinating, hilarious, and irresistible, my Charisma tank would fill up. I wouldn’t let it go too far, of course. Nothing physical would happen. But if he grew attracted to me, I’d use the magic to defeat the dragon, find Winston and overthrow the Evil One, and deal with the fallout later. A tiny crush never hurt anyone. I could almost smell sweet, sweet victory.
Oh. That was the smell of Bryce. I’d never noticed it until then, until I slid my legs between the sheets of his bed. It was some genericguysmell, like mint-leaf-chewing-bear-fighting-octopus-near-pine-forest or something, but it smelled good, clean, comforting—
“Courtney?” Bryce asked. “Hello? I made a hilarious joke, and you’re not appreciating it.”
“I’m sorry I’m missing all your greatest moments,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I’ll have to start calling you dad.”
I paused. “Oh my god, Bryce.”
“Don’t ‘oh my god’ me. Tell me you’re my daddy or something. Come on, I thought going too far was our thing.”
“You’d like to go too far with me,” I said, but my mind drifted elsewhere, remembering how Bryce said, “They’re fine,” when Iasked about his parents. Remembering the way Bryce didn’t get any Christmas cards or packages in the mail. The way I ate microwave spaghetti sitting against the shared wall of our duplex on December 25 because I heard him shuffling around over there. Maybe he just didn’t celebrate Christmas, but I’d pretended he was as lonely as I was because then at least we could be alone together.
Guilt over what I was about to do trickled into my heart.
It was for Bryce’s own good, I reasoned. I’d confess after we were safely home that I’d used his emotions for power. He’d be irate and would probably hate me for real. If that meant we were done being frenemies when we got home, that was a consequence I could live with, so long as we were both alive.
