Page 26

Story: Petty AF

My smile wobbled as I leaned more heavily against his side. “Thank you. I just want this to be over.”
We waited in uneasy silence, our heads swiveling toward the front door every time a new customer entered. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, the anticipation building to nearly unbearable levels.
Finally, just when I had started to think he wouldn’t show, Joss Weller stepped into the cafe, bringing with him a significant swing in the energy. Conversations became muted or died away altogether. The air became thicker, heavier, and though everyone averted their gaze as he crossed the room, the warlock commanded their attention.
Unlike when I’d met him at the gala, today, he looked completely…ordinary. Almost approachable. His blond hair fell in soft, tousled waves around his face, and short stubble covered his jaw. Sporting a pair of dark jeans and a fitted heather-gray tee, he looked more like a suburban soccer dad than a powerful warlock.
Approaching our table, he paused beside one of the chairs, his gaze raking over me, then Deaton, lingering just a fraction longer on our joined hands. What he thought of that little detail, I didn’t know. His eyes gave away nothing, and only an enigmatic grin fluttered at the corner of his lips as he took his seat across from us.
“I’m here,” he announced. “Say what you have to say and be quick about it.”
“We wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t cursed me,” I snapped back, wincing when Deaton’s hand tightened around mine in warning. “I want you to unhex me.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
He spoke with a conversational tone, not provoking or condescending, which allowed me to maintain a certain degree of composure. I had also expected some version of that question, and the dozens of times I’d practiced the conversation with Deaton seemed to be paying off.
I still had no choice other than to answer with the truth, but with no real anger behind it, I could serve him the facts without a side of petty commentary.
“It’s ruining my life, and frankly, I don’t think I deserved it in the first place. You insulted me, and I responded.”
Joss leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, his eyes flickering toward my mate. “To be clear, I was actually insulting Deaton.”
“By insulting me.” I took a deep breath and reminded myself to stick to the facts. No need to insert my opinion. “As if being seen with a lowly human like me was somehow beneath him.”
That odd, mysterious smile returned. “You’re right to think I was provoking you,” he confessed. “You’re just wrong about the reasons.”
I hadn’t expected that, and as such, I didn’t have a strategy for it. Under no circumstances had I thought he would actually admit to any wrongdoing. Floundering, I ended up blurting out the first thing that popped into my head.
“Then what the hell was the reason?”
“That’s my business.”
“Is it because you have a hard-on for my mate?”
He stared back at me, his expression unreadable, and didn’t answer.
Though curiosity ate at me, I decided it really didn’t matter. Whatever his motivations, the result had been the same. Still super annoying, though.
“No more games,” Deaton demanded, speaking for the first time since the warlock had joined us. “Are you going to undo the hex or not?”
“Sure.” Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he splayed his fingers and brought the tips together in front of him. “As soon as he apologizes.”
I shook my head. I had expected this stipulation, and I already had my answer ready.
“I can’t do that because I don’t think what I said was wrong.” If anything, I had shown remarkable restraint…until he’d cursedme. “I can thank you, though. If it wasn’t for you, Deaton wouldn’t have kissed me to shut me up, and we might never have realized we were meant to be together.”
I hoped we would have eventually figured it out on our own, but I couldn’t know that. Meeting him had been one of the single most important events in my life, and I didn’t want to imagine my life without him.
And for that, I had only gratitude.
The warlock’s eyes flashed, a small, subtle movement at the corners, but I could tell my answer surprised him. Beyond that tiny tell, however, he gave away nothing, and he took his time, stretching the silence between us, before he responded.
Dropping his hands, he leaned forward and tilted his head, a cocksure smile curving his lips. “Not even a little apology?”
For some reason, instead of irritating me, the question made me laugh. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold back my retort, and of course, I answered with brutal, stinging honesty.
“I’m sorry that you have the emotional intelligence of a caffeinated raccoon at feeding time.”