Page 37 of Hungry As Her Python

I mean the man kissed me like I was his last meal, then poof! He vanished for days.

And me? I was right to say no.

I simply wasn’t built for that kind of emotional roller coaster.

Why couldn’t the man just be happy with a little no-strings boinking?

Was that so unreasonable?

The fact was relationships and I, well, let’s just say we’d never been on speaking terms for long.

The second I agreed to be someone’s girlfriend, the diet books would mysteriously start appearing, followed by lectures about healthy lifestyle choices and necessary self-improvement.

Newsflash, boys, I liked myself just fine.

Also, fork off.

I mean, yes, I had Monday-through-Sunday underwear, but that’s called being organized.

And yes, my Monday panties said Bakery Girl Forevah on them, but that wasn’t just laundry—it was a lifestyle.

Even pudgy, I was cute as hell.

And if a man couldn’t appreciate that? Well, I had an entire drawer full of battery-operated optimism.

Sure, sex with an actual person was better, but it also came with things like feelings and the possibility of heartbreak.

And I wasn’t interested in falling into that trap just because one six-and-a-half-foot-tall Python Shifter could kiss me into next week.

Which brought me back to the current problem: I still needed to get Mrs. Gennaro out the door before I was late to the bonfire.

Donny and Evie were counting on me, and the former might take it as a personal betrayal if I showed up after moonrise, jeopardizing their joint wedding.

See, if the wards weren’t reinforced then Castor’s Corner was likely to get hit by some horribly inconvenient force—magical or otherwise.

And no one wanted that on any average day, never mind, with two of the town’s Witch Trifecta’s nuptials coming up.

“Mrs. Gennaro, have you decided what you’d like?” I asked, inching toward polite-but-firm territory.

“What, dear?” she said, blinking up at me like I’d just spoken in Parseltongue.

“I said, what can I help you with?”

“Oh, well,” she sighed and looked around at the mostly empty shelves. “Everything goods been put away. Am I really late again?”

“In fact, I was just about to close?—”

“Well, I’m glad I caught you then! The Castor’s Corner Charmed Embers Women and Witches Social Club is having a special meeting tonight.”

“That’s nice,” I said through my customer-service smile.

“Yes, and we’re not just doting Grannies talking knitting patterns, oh no. We have important issues to discuss.”

“I see. So, how can I help you?”

“As Vice President, I said I’d get the goodies for tonight’s emergency meeting. Don’t you want to know what it’s about?”

She paused for dramatic effect.