Page 43 of This Spells Love

I look up. “If I did, would you help me hide the body?”

His smile spreads slowly. “That’s a big commitment. Do you think we’re there yet emotionally?”

I shake my head. “Probably not.”

He leans in, and for a second, I think he’s about to kiss me. Instead, he whispers, “I’d help you ditch the car.”

I could turn my head and kiss him.

He’s lingering.

I know it. And although all along, my plan has been to get him to kiss me, it’s not supposed to be here or now, yet I still want it to happen.

Whether he reads my hesitation or not, he backs off. My head clears, and I realize how close we were to doing something irreversible.

I start walking before either one of us changes their mind.

It takes a full block before my heart stops beating like a sledgehammer and a second block before I rationalize that the almost-kiss was entirely in my head. Maybe. Probably. No. Definitely in my head.

By the time I’m feeling somewhat normal again, we’re walking up Catherine Street, and I can see my house.

“Thank you for walking me home. This is me.” I point at the front porch, which is completely dark.

Dax gives the house an assessing look. “I remember. Seems like a nice place.”

I shrug. “Frank and I like it.”

His eyes cloud. “Who’s Frank?”

“My spider. We share a shower. I live in the basement. My entrance is around the back.”

Dax eyes my yard. “Right. Down that creepy dark pathway.”

“It’s not creepy,” I say defensively. Then I give it a second look. “I guess it’s a little creepy.”

He nods and settles into an awkward silence that stretches longer than a beat. “Text me when you get inside,” he finally says.

“I can do that.”

Again, he points to the path. “I’d walk you, but…” His voice trails off.

“But what?”

Now I want to know what he’s thinking.

It takes so long for him to answer that I almost think he isn’t going to.

“You told me earlier you make terrible decisions when you’re drunk, so it’s probably better that I stay out here on this sidewalk, and we leave it at that.”

There are many ways I could take that statement. And the most obvious one has dangerous implications.

“Goodnight, Daxon McGuire.”

“Goodnight, Gemma McGuire.”

“It’s Gemma Wilde, you drunk.”

He shrugs, smiling. “Slip of the tongue.”

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