Page 54 of Hopelessly Teavoted

“Yeah, I get that.” He wasn’t looking forward to it, especially not with how snappish the man was about sharing a copy machine. He could only imagine how grumpy Chet would be if wrongly accused of villainy. “I do need to do that. I will. Monday.”

“Do it, but be careful. Text me if you need anything. Promise?”

“I do.”

She bit her lip, and he leaned against the closest wall to keep from giving in to the pull that was her body, beckoning him always to come closer, even if it would mean sudden death. “Az, I’ve been thinking about everything. About forever. But in the meantime, what if I called one more pretend?”

How bad was dying, really?

Fuck. Two minutes and his resolve to avoid a fiery death was already at an all-time low. He had to cut the tension between them, and he couldn’t do it with his tongue the way he’d most prefer to. Tongues, though, had other uses.

“I accept your pretend, though I told you, I’m not pretending anymore. I want you to know that everything I say, everything I do, isn’t pretending anymore. It’s all real.”

“Oh yeah? Want to come upstairs and talk about it? I can’t promise anything fancy, but I do have several packages of ramen that could have your name on them. From across the table, of course.”

“Obviously,” he said, smile faltering. She bit her lip, and he pushed on. “Is it the chicken flavor?”

“The best one. Yes. Come on, you can help me.” She stood up, fishing in her pocket, and took out a pair of long silk gloves. She rolled the sleeves of her turtleneck up, pulled the gloves on, rolled the sleeves back down so that the fabric overlapped, and reached for his hand.

The warmth of it hit him through the fabric, and he wondered for a moment if he was burning, heart bursting at the almost of touching her, his joy drowned once again.

Az focused instead on watching the shape of her as she walked up the stairs slowly, not dropping his hand, though stretching back to hold it must have been awkward.

Vickie’s jeans were tight enough that he could see the outlines of her hips, her thighs, and the spot where they met and the fabric had worn almost bare.

Damn. That was his favorite spot, but he’d have to be careful about touching her, even through clothes.

One little hole, one ripped seam, one tiny mistake would be all it took to kill him.

Half-hard by the time they reached the top of the stairs, he wondered if his dick had a death wish. He’d have to be very, very careful around Vickie.

The size of the apartment didn’t help. Five minutes in and he’d resorted to standing across the kitchen from her, snapping his help from afar.

Leaning against the refrigerator, he watched her at the stove.

“Tell me you at least have a vegetable to add to that.”

“I’m not sure. Can you spell one for me?”

“Vickie. Is there anything relatively healthy we could add? Tofu?”

“I have jam,” she offered, gesturing to the refrigerator.

“Jam is not a vegetable, and it does not go with ramen.”

“Well, help yourself to the fridge. I was going to get fancy and put eggs on top.”

“I could run to the store.”

Vickie whirled around. “And pass up on the urgency of pretending?”

“No, you’re right. Who needs vegetables? Vegetables are the worst.” The slow curl of her lip gave her away. He’d never deny her this pretend. Never.

“Yeah. You know, I was going to have a few drinks anyway, and I shouldn’t drive home.

” He flicked his fingers together, and a dark and stormy appeared on the counter next to her, matching the one he held, both in plastic pirate-shaped cups that his mother had left over from some sort of event in the storage area.

“Nice,” said Vickie, smiling at the cup, and taking a sip.

He took a long drink, set his glass down, and opened the fridge to see if there was actually anything that could help them eat like people who were approaching thirty and occasionally required nutrients.

She had cheese, coffee creamer, and eggs, but there was an unopened bag of baby carrots he could work with.

He snapped his fingers, and the carrots cut themselves with a knife, folding into neat matchstick piles.

“Quick thinking, Mr. Hart,” she said, her tone playful enough to force him to down the rest of the drink.

“Don’t—” he bit off, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans. “Don’t call me that.”

“Fine.”

She took out a pan and glanced over her shoulder at him.

Goddess, what he would give to brace her over the counter and rail her until she screamed his whole name and dropped the smirk.

It was impossible, of course, or if it was possible—and he wasn’t saying he hadn’t considered the logistics of, say, a full latex suit—it would be different enough that they would need to talk about it more than just a little bit of banter over vegetables, or the lack thereof.

“Can you crack the eggs?”

He snapped his fingers, and music drifted from the speaker of his phone as the eggs flew through the air and cracked gracefully against each other to the rhythm before dropping into the pan.

“Would it be so bad, Vickie? To live like this? Together, at a small distance, touching carefully? Protected.”

“Azrael.” Her voice was a warning. “I can’t cook distracted, especially when you’re smoldering like that.”

“You’re making instant noodles.”

“Exactly. They require precise timing. Can we just pretend it’s a normal dinner date, between two people who aren’t cursed not to touch?”

Shit. She’d meant that kind of pretending.

Which he could do. He swallowed. “I’ll drop it.

I promise. Listen, let’s eat, and then we can plot out everything we know about the Big Bad and have a few more drinks.

” Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and he held up his hands in an offering of peace.

“A few more safely distanced drinks, and then maybe I can take the couch.” He gestured to the couch, pressed up against the wall shared by her bedroom.

“That couch is not comfortable enough to sleep on.”

He snapped his fingers, and it extended. The cushions fluffed and moved outward. It was big enough now to stick out into the edges of the hall.

“Fine.” She stared at him. “But we stay far enough away from each other to avoid any temptation. And you put my couch back to fitting in my living room when you’re done.”

Swallowing, he nodded. He wasn’t sure there was any distance long enough to do that, but he’d take what he could get.

By the time they were done with the instant noodles, he couldn’t believe they were from a package.

“You’re impressive,” he said, digging in.

“I aim to please.” She swirled a fork around in her bowl, catching noodles and eating for a few minutes before pausing. “So, asshole boss?”

“I’ll follow him this week. I should have done it earlier, but I got caught up in grading and anxiety, and since we knew whoever it is won’t really make a move until Halloween, it kind of kept sliding down my to-do list.”

“I get that. Even the end of the world feels like it could get pushed back when things get hectic at work.”

“Shop busy?”

She sighed.

“I’m running myself ragged. I need to hire more help now that Hazel’s only weekends and early dismissal days.

I just worry about money, and I told myself if I work hard enough, I can handle working all day and baking and prepping late into the night.

Doing the bulk of everything else on Wednesdays when I close the store. ”

“Vickie,” he started. He couldn’t reach for her hand, so he snapped instead, warming the apartment to the perfect temperature. “It’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

“I know,” she said, biting her lip. “Do you think you could maybe set up some of the baking prep work with magic? I suspect that’s how your mom made things run so smoothly.”

“Shit,” he said. “Yes, of course. That would be so easy. I can take care of it tonight, and set it up so the prep work happens up here, so Hazel doesn’t notice anything amiss. But you have to look for more help in the shop too. You deserve rest.”

“While we are on the subject of burnout,” she began. “I think you could ease up on the weekend-long grading stretches.”

He frowned. “Won’t students—or their parents—be upset if they don’t get work back right away?”

Vickie shrugged. “Probably some will. But most will probably understand, and even the ones who don’t, I bet they’d be more upset to lose you as a teacher if you keep up this kind of unsustainable hustle to return every assignment so quickly.”

“Fine,” he said. “It’s a deal, but only if we both agree to set aside some time for solving magical mysteries.”

“And for personal pursuits.” She pushed the empty bowl away from her, and he smiled, snapping his fingers to take care of the dishes. “Can you get the ones I left in the shop too?”

He winked and snapped twice. “Washed and dried. It’s done. Did you have any other specific personal pursuits in mind?”

“Actually, yes, but it’s not going to be what you think.” Her eyes glinted.

“I’m happy if you’re happy, Vickie.” He meant it too.

“In the spirit of pretending we are a totally normal couple, want to watch a movie?”

“Yes. Do I get to pick?” He sat down on the edge of the couch, and she shook her head, laughing at him.

“No. My choice.”

“Fair enough.”

“I think you’ll like it, though. It involves a character storming through a misty moor in a see-through white shirt.”

Azrael smiled widely. “Excellent, excellent choice.”

And when he fell asleep, several hours, several drinks, and very little progress on identifying any suspects later, he raised his hand to the wall next to him, pressing it as though he could feel her on the other side, where her bed was.

The magic thrumming under his fingernails and in his wrists told him where she was, and he fell asleep like that, half reassured by her presence and half agonizing over his inability to get any closer than two hands pressed against opposite sides of a wall.

It was something, though. And something, with love, could be better than nothing.

He hoped.