Page 31 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

I fell asleep with my contacts in.

Eyelids welded shut, I grope in my bedside drawer for eye drops, and by the time I’ve doused myself in them, pried my contacts out, and found my glasses, it hits me.

I’m alone.

The sequins on my shirt scratch my palm as I rub at my pec, but the motion doesn’t soothe the sharp ache that pinches behind my rib cage.

Sunlight’s easing through my window, and I blink around my room, looking for… some sign, I don’t know. A shift in the fabric of the universe. A rip, a destruction, a change .

Elethior and I hooked up.

And he held me until I fell asleep.

I don’t know when he left. I don’t remember anything after passing out, and how did he manage to stay conscious following back-to-back orgasms? Especially orgasms like that . I still feel sluggish, relaxation fighting hard to keep my muscles lethargic and weighed down.

He said he’d leave before morning, and he did. That’s good. It keeps the delineation clear—a hookup, period.

But in the swelling light of morning, with blankets pooled around my waist, it isn’t the sex that flares across my memory.

It’s—

Camp Merethyl. His assurances. All those things he said. Look into my eyes and tell me you want my mouth on your cock. What about the date you had? And that bartender?

Get out of bed. Get out of bed and shower and function . It’s Monday and I had a hookup and that’s all it was.

I throw a towel around my waist, shuck my crop top, and stand in the hall outside my room.

Orok’s door is closed.

Elethior was only at the club last night because Orok told him we’d be there.

I mean, you can’t argue with the results, but still, I cannot let such a slight go unaddressed.

Which is a way better focus for all the energy that wants me to fixate on last night but fuck that shit, I’m going to torture my best friend instead.

Growing up in a house of wizards, you learn certain tricks early. Especially when your siblings are significantly older than you; I think that’s where my tendency toward pranks comes from, an ingrained sense of survival.

So imbuing rocks with low-level noise spells? Child’s play.

Hiding those rocks around Orok’s room while he’s passed out and hungover? Psh . Don’t insult me.

Waiting until he texts me good morning so I know he’s up, then triggering the spells to activate when I’m on the bus, and all seven rocks start simultaneously screaming, “ You are dead to me, ” in the most cackling, fiendish voice I could crank out of the spell? The least of what he deserves.

And I set up one rock to scream-sing the chorus from Chappell Roan’s “HOT TO GO!” on repeat, and that one I hid under a deflection spell, so he ain’t never gonna find it.

By the time I’m stepping onto the bus, Orok’s calling me.

I answer, and before I can speak, I’m bombarded by the shrieking spell voice in an overlapping discordance along with the faintest upbeat bop of how you can take me hot to go —

“Fucking hell, Seb,” Orok brays into the phone. “Make it stop .”

“That’s a hard no after you betrayed me and salted the earth on which I live .”

The guy I sit next to on the bus pops an eyebrow but pretends to be engrossed in his phone.

“YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, YOU ARE—”

There’s rustling, and at least two of the voices stop.

“How did I betray you?” Orok asks. Shuffling joins the hodgepodge of background noises. Another screeching voice cuts off.

“How was Elethior at Prismatic?” I reply.

“Ah.” Orok coughs.

“ Ah? Ah? You don’t sound remorseful. Hence your new surround-sound speakers.”

“You sent me to get your shit out of the lab,” Orok says. Something thuds; he curses. A few more rocks quiet. “He asked where you were. He seemed honestly upset about you running off. Sorry, about you turning invisible, then running off. Smooth move there, Casanova.”

“I will lodge a shrieking rock up your ass.”

The guy sitting next to me stands abruptly and motions to get around me. “Uh, gonna—”

“No, I’ll move. I’m sorry.” I get up and shove myself into the alcove near the rear door. To Orok, I hiss, “You told him where I’d be last night.”

“To be fair, I only told him we’d probably hit Prismatic after the win.” Another rock shuts up. It sounds like there’s only one more “ YOU ARE DEAD TO ME ” along with Chappell Roan telling Orok to raise his hands and body roll.

“Shit, Seb, where’d you hide them?”

“Hang up and do a seeking spell. It’s your punishment.”

“For trying to get you out of your own way?”

“Yes. No. For—” I rest my head against the bus door’s window. It’s grimy and disgusting and gods know what I’m letting soak into my skin.

“Under your dresser,” I mutter.

Orok coos triumphantly. “ Thank you .”

“YOU ARE DE—” It shuts off mid-sentence.

But Chappell’s still going. “H-O-T-T—”

“ Seb .”

I sigh. “On your bedside table.”

“There’s no rock on my bedside table.”

“Cloaking spell.”

“ Asshole .”

“Yeah. A bit.” I scrub a hand through my hair as Chappell Roan stops.

“Thank gods .” Orok blows out a huge breath in his now silent room. “My head is killing me.”

The bus rattles and hits a bump.

A memory surfaces: my mom showing up before winter break.

“You’re making a habit out of letting people pop into my life without telling me,” I accuse him. “I’m not sure I like it. Are you conspiring with anyone else to leap out at me? My grandmother? An elementary school nemesis?”

Orok huffs, but it sounds like he’s wincing. “No. I’m not conspiring with anyone else. I wasn’t conspiring with—no, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I talked to him.”

“Or you should’ve not talked to him.”

“So he isn’t who you texted me you were taking home? And that wasn’t him creeping out of our apartment last night as I was getting in?”

My neck heats. That heat climbs, hits my cheeks, my ears. “The outcome of your meddling cannot be used to counteract the treachery of the meddling itself.”

“ Thank you, Orok, ” he badly mimics my voice. “ I got laid because of you, Orok. You’re the best wingman ever, Orok. ”

I usually push back. I usually keep the banter going.

But my mouth dries.

Orok allows that silence for a beat. “You’re trying to make it something complex when it’s not. He is not his family . You can like him. You’re allowed to like him.”

“I don’t like him,” I say. “What we’ve done is just physical. That’s where it stops.”

That’s where it has to stop.

If I think beyond that, it all falls apart.

Like how we’re lab partners, and no matter what happens, we’re committed to working together for the next several months, and we can barely do that when only animosity is involved; but adding in other feelings? Ohhhh boy, actual murder, violence, implosions.

Or how he is part of his family regardless of what Orok says, but… it’s honestly easy to forget that. Too easy. And that’s a betrayal of myself, isn’t it? Forgetting who he is, what his family’s done. I can’t let that go. I can’t forget.

This is too messy. I’ll call it off. I’ll walk up to Elethior at the lab, give him a firm handshake, and say, Good game, buddy, but we can’t take to the field anymore .

My brain comes up with a very sophisticated counterproposal, which is Elethior’s growly Can I suck you off?

Great. Now I’ve got a boner on the bus.

Orok brings me back to the topic at hand when he asks, “You both agreed that it’s just physical?”

I shrug though he can’t see me. “Yes.”

Well, I laid that boundary, and he didn’t push back. Is that what he wants?

“And you’ll be okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I frown at the passing city streets. “You told me to trust myself. Elethior and I laid boundaries. We know where we stand. It’s—”

“ Seb . I just asked if you’ll be okay with it only being physical.”

My brain stutters. “I—why wouldn’t I be? We’re going in circles.”

Something squeaks on Orok’s end and I can imagine him lying back on his bed. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what I think yet.”

My heart launches up into my throat, panic frying my nerve endings. “I told you, I have this handled. I’m thinking clearly, I’m in control. I promise.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t think you’ll hear what I have to say, and that’s fine.

I know you’re doing better. This lab partnership thing with him has been messed up, but you’ve handled all of it.

I think you’re only freaking out because you’re not freaking out.

But what I will say”—his exhale scratches across the phone—“is that you should be gentle with yourself. Don’t compartmentalize this so much that you get lost in the boxes you’ve locked yourself in.

Trust that you can handle more. That you can handle real. ”

“You and your armchair psychology. Or bed psychology, as it were.”

“Have you meditated today?”

“Oh look, it’s my stop. Gotta go.”

The bus really does stop, and the doors really do open, and I really do jump off, but I don’t hang up.

Orok still sees a therapist occasionally.

I did for a while, but there were only so many times I could be told the same stuff Orok gives me— Try centering techniques, Your anger is a defense mechanism, Strive to be calm —before I lost my mind.

It works for Orok and I’ll be forever grateful he has that option, but it did nothing beyond piss me off more.

I rub at my chest like when I woke up, trying to push away the ache that starts again.

“I want to be better,” I whisper. “I’m afraid I will freak out, and I don’t want to.”

Orok hums, and there’s a smile in his voice now. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that. You usually choose your anger.”

Do I? I mean, obviously; I know I do. But I don’t want to not choose it. Anger isn’t all bad. I just don’t want it to control me.

Anger has protected me, but I’m tired of it being the dominant thing I feel.

Why have I pole-vaulted this emotional crossbar now? Why today ? I’m not dumb—I know my night with Elethior rattled me, but two orgasms are hardly cause for an internal breakthrough.