Page 2 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed

Sweet sex on a broomstick. . .who the fuck is this man walking toward me?

I blink—walking toward me?!

I groan realizing that it’s Preston Carwright, from the network. It has to be. Who else would look like a Hollywood star in Danvers, Massachusetts? The stranger is tall, with mile-long legs, wide shoulders, and abs for days, which are clearly defined in the tight knit shirt he is wearing. His eyes are a deep forest green and his hair is chestnut brown with a curl. To add to this picture of perfection, the man grins as he sidles up to my table, sporting dimples.

Dimples, I say!

My feminine Achilles’s heel.

My pussy kryptonite.

My—

“Evanora Porter?” Mr. Haunt My Sex Dreams interrupts my thoughts.

“In the flesh,” I grumble, trying not to stare at the crotch of his jeans which is eye-level in my seated position—notbecause I’m checking out his package.

I scoot out of the booth, my skin squeaking across the vinyl, making attractive sounds as I attempt to stand. Lovely. I roll my eyes at myself and hold out my hand.

“You must be Preston. It’s nice to meet you,” I say politely.

Preston clasps my hand firmly in his and gives a friendly squeeze.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he rumbles in his deep radio-announcer voice.

My ovaries do a jig.

Knock it off, ovaries! No jigging—we’re not even Irish!

Preston motions for me to sit back down and slides into the seat across from me. A waitress appears at his elbow, asking if she can get him anything. She’s dressed like Sarah Sanderson fromHocus Pocuswith an over-easy egg-shaped name tag. Her eyes never leave Preston’s face. Apparently, I’m not the only one in the diner to take notice of the man and his fine ass. I clear my throat when she leaves, trying to keep my thoughts on task.

Game show.

Winning the prize.

Breaking the curse.

“Soooooooo, are you here to explain everything to me? Mindy was pretty vague when she called to tell me that I was a contestant on the show.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m your on-screen coach. We’re going to be like this,” he announces, crossing his pointer and middle fingers.

“Entwined?!” I choke out, my mind immediately jumping headlong into the gutter.

Preston squints in confusion, his dark green eyes crinkling at the sides. He looks down at his fingers and then back at me.

“Close,” he clarifies. “We’re going to be close. I’m going to be like your shadow.”

“Sounds pervy,” I joke.

Preston chuckles.

“I promise not to pervtoo much.”

I smile archly at him; the man can perv as much as he wants. . .

“Wait a sec,” I frown, taking my mind off his dimples to his words. “Why do I need an on-screen coach?”

“To help you act,” Preston explains.