Page 100 of How to Flirt with a Witch

She huffs out a breath of laughter. “Sophia dated a coven member, and he spilled everything.”

Ah. That’s not the answer I was banking on. In fact, it probably impacted this wholeno-dating-outsidersrule.

Natalie must see my disappointment. “Yeah. Sophia became hellbent on collecting magical objects. She’s brilliant and comes from a wealthy family, so she always got whatever she wanted. She wouldn’t acceptno, and she did what it took to get answers.”

I blow out a breath. “They tightened up the rules about dating outsiders after that?”

She nods stiffly.

“What happened?”

She hesitates. “This was before I was born, so I only know the stories. There was a series of trials for the man she dated… He was stripped of his rank and went to jail. Took his own life in there when he found out Sophia had moved on.”

I shiver. “That was a pretty drastic punishment. Can’t you modify a person’s memory if they find out about magic?”

“No.” There’s a sharpness in her tone, like I’ve crossed a line. “And we wouldn’t do that sort of invasion of someone’s mind even if we could.”

There’s a pause. I listen to her breaths, rocked by the soothing rising and falling.

“So to sum up,” I say, “we can fuck, but we can’t let anyone know we’re together.”

Her eyebrows pinch, her lips turning downward. “I hope you know you mean more than that.”

I rest my chin on her shoulder, studying her profile. My heart thrums. “How would this play out if we could openly date?”

She brushes her fingers lightly up and down my arm. “I’d have taken you out several times by now. Tonight, we would go to a fancy restaurant… and I probably would’ve researchedfun and unique date ideas in Vancouver, which means we would end up ice skating at Robson Square or playing glow-in-the-dark mini golf.”

I laugh. “Sounds nice.”

“Instead,” she says with a sigh, “we’ll have to call our curse-hunting assignments dates.”

“Which would be the most interesting dates I’ve ever been on, actually.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, unamused.

I reach up and squeeze her cheeks. “Stop worrying about me.”

“As soon as you stop getting into trouble,” she says through puckered lips, which makes me laugh.

A rap on the door splits the air.

Natalie sucks in a sharp breath and sits up, the sudden movement sending me tumbling onto the pillow.

The cozy warmth leeches away, dread creeping over my skin.

“Ohmygod,” I blurt, the blood draining from my head.

We stare at the door, a pair of guilty statues.

Natalie springs out of bed and rips open my dresser drawer, pulling out the first pajama top—my moon-phases t-shirt—and throwing it at me.

With wide, panicked eyes, she retreats into the bathroom, easing the door shut with a soft, nearly inaudible click.

“Coming!” I shout. My hands tremble as I pull the shirt over my head. It’s long enough to cover my nakedness, and after shoving our discarded clothes under the bed, I don’t have time to put on pants.

Humiliation floods my veins, prickling my skin. Is it obvious what just happened in here?

I rake my fingers through my tousled hair, taming my brown locks as best I can in the few steps it takes me to get to the door.