Page 41 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

I stay to watch Orok’s charity game while Thio vanishes—to avoid Myrdin’s approach, but mostly with mysterious promises that he’ll have everything ready when he picks me up tonight.

I’m told to dress nicely. Which I’m not sure is warranted, given my plans are for whatever clothes I wear to end the evening on someone’s bedroom floor, but hey, that is the point of an actual date, isn’t it? To do more than have sex?

Why did I think this was a good idea?

Oh. Because I like the guy.

Probably more, and for longer, than I’ll let myself believe.

The kids’ group Orok’s team is playing didn’t come to mess around.

Most are high school age, maybe fifteen, sixteen max, but they’re out for blood, and by the second half, I catch more than a few winded holy shit glances between Orok’s teammates.

The overall vibes are still in good fun.

The kids secure a win by one point, and the Manticores cheer and congratulate them with honest excitement.

Security lets me back onto the field and I jog over to the player benches while Orok sprays his face with a water bottle.

“That loss wasn’t intentional, was it?”

He glances around, notes only his teammates nearby, and bulges his eyes at me in disbelief. “You see that one rogue get past me to swipe the ball from Crescentia in the third quarter? Where did he come from? Gods, kids these days. They’re ruthless. Our future’s in good hands.”

“All right, Grandpa.” I pat his shoulder pad. “Glad you’re such a good—”

A woman approaches us, her blue hair pulled up in a sleek bun, eyes a translucent aqua—a siren.

She’s dressed in a sharp business suit with a leather folio clutched to her chest, immediately making me feel more than a little underdressed in my goo-stained clothes; magic could only clean ooze cube loogies so much.

She stops next to us, and Orok’s face pales.

“I’ve been looking for talent in the wrong places,” she says, nothing but camaraderie in her tone, the same pleasantly surprised energy the Manticores show as most mingle with the kids now, exclaiming over them.

But Orok nods tightly. “Yeah.”

That’s all he says.

I look back at her to figure out why he’s being weird and clock the logo imprinted on her folio: the pro rawball insignia.

“She’s the recruiter?” I guess. Then, to her, “You’re the pro rawball recruiter?”

The woman holds out her hand, and I take it. “Savasea Corruguna. It’s reassuring, at least, that Orok has told you about the opportunity.” Her eyes sparkle, not from using magic, just in friendliness, and she looks up at him. “Is it too much to hope that that means you’ve made a decision?”

Orok’s mouth bobbles. “Uh. Not yet. No.”

It’s my turn for my eyes to bulge comically, but he doesn’t look at me as Savasea pulls a card out of her folio and extends it to Orok.

“I’d love to talk more before I leave town next week. Give me a call, would you?” She winks at him. “Try not to lose my card this time.”

I translate that. “She’s asked you to call her before and you haven’t ?”

Orok snatches the card and closes his hand around it, his face cherry red. “I—” He sighs. “Yeah.”

I huff at Savasea. “I promise I raised him better than that. He’ll call you this time.” I bat his chest with the back of my hand. “Won’t you?”

Savasea seems amused by me, more so when she realizes I’m on her side. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

Orok remembers basic manners all at once. He gives her a smile and blows out an apologetic breath. “Thank you, yes. I will call you. It’s just… a lot.”

I’m practically bouncing in place. What’s a lot? What’s she offered him?

“I understand,” Savasea says. “I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”

Orok’s smile is truer. “Thanks. I’ll call you.”

She leaves, not heading off to talk to any other players, I note.

Oh my gods. She came for him. To a charity game, not even anything official.

The moment she’s a respectable distance away, I grab Orok’s arm tight enough to sever arteries. “ What was that about, ” I ask, but it comes out as a high-pitched shriek.

Orok hangs his head. “A recruiter. It’s noth—”

“If you say it’s nothing, I swear to the gods—”

“Seb.”

I try to rein myself in. His eyes hold mine imploringly.

“You got recruited?” I ask, voice lower. Maybe no one else knows. How would his team not know? If she’s been around practices and games.

But how did I not know about this offer? How did Orok not tell me?

I don’t let the stab of hurt unsettle me. Too much.

“Not recruited,” Orok counters. “I’d still have to try out. And it’s crazy competitive. But—”

“O.” I squeeze his arm more gently. “This is a big deal. You’re gonna call her, right?”

He bites his lip.

“ O .”

“Yeah, I’m gonna call her,” he says, but it’s lacking several degrees of conviction. He sniffs before his lips twitch in a smile that’s—sad? “I’ll call her,” he says again, more firmly.

I grin. “Good, you oaf.” I shake his arm. “This is good .”

His happiness brightens. “Maybe. I dunno.”

“ I dunno, he says.” I punch his chest. “Well, I know that the Hellhounds will be lucky to have you.”

There’s that sad smile again. He can’t still be worried we’ll lose touch after graduation?

Yeah, it’ll be a big change. But not all changes are bad.

The weight of my mom’s text in my phone makes my pocket heavier. I’ll delete it the first moment I get.

“Hey.” I take his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this phase of our lives together.” I smile through a wince. “You’re not the only one taking steps like that. I have a date tonight. That I initiated. With Thio.” I wince again. “Did I mention I initiated it?”

Orok throws his head back with a cackling whoop before he loops his arm around my shoulder and hauls me into his side.

“About time.” He laughs into my hair.

But his grip on me stiffens, all his muscles seizing. It sets me on alert.

“I wasn’t sure either of us would ever be able to make a connection beyond our trauma bond,” he whispers.

I push back. “It’s not a trauma bond. And besides, it’s one date. A first date. It isn’t a… connection .”

“Uh-huh. Sure it isn’t. What time’s he picking you up?”

“Seven. But why—”

Orok’s smile is so big his teeth glint in the afternoon sun. “Good. I’ll make sure to vet him thoroughly tonight.”

My face falls.

I won’t be able to rely on Orok having rawball practice to keep him out of the apartment.

“Well.” I swallow. “Shit.”

Orok’s grin is evil. “Trial by fire, baby. He wants you, he’s gotta go through all of this.” And he waves his hand across his body as he gyrates his hips.

I’m sure tonight’ll be fine.

It is not fine.

Not only is Orok home, but a dozen of his teammates also toppled back here with him, and now Orok’s drunk, along with Ivo and several other members of the Manticores’ defensive line, all of them playing potion pong—a slightly riskier cousin of beer pong with mild low-level spells in the cups instead of alcohol.

One of the other tanks got a weak flight spell and is currently hovering against our ceiling.

Someone else got a potion of fire breathing and is drunkenly, frantically searching on his phone for the antidote because he’d been mid–trying to flirt with a cheerleader, and now every time he talks he spits a column of flames.

His friends aren’t helping because they’re having too much fun laughing at his expense.

It’s in the midst of this chaos, with me standing at the base of the stairs and considering downing an invisibility potion so I can sneak to the door unnoticed, that the doorbell rings.

Music had been playing, but that shuts off. Conversation, ribbing each other—it all flatlines.

An apartment full of Manticores looks at me.

Orok told them I have a date tonight.

All their heads simultaneously swing left, then back to me, and they clock that every single one of them is standing between me and the front door.

The doorbell rings again.

In perfect mimicry of a Wild West standoff, none of us move. None of us blink.

My fingers twitch at my sides, but I didn’t wear my component belt—I have a few things lodged in my back pocket though. Will they do me any good?

Best to run for it.

I bolt forward, but Orok and his teammates react like a gun went off, and I’m quickly thwarted by my attempt at running offense against a group of people who are trained to hold off far bulkier people than I am.

I end up trapped behind a wall made of Ivo and the guy who took the fire potion, both looking too smug as Orok reaches the door first with three other players.

He swings it open and puts on his best who the fuck are you voice. “Can I help you?”

Thio looks so good I briefly forget I should be struggling to get out the door. He’s in dark jeans with a chunky silver buckle on his black belt, and a short sleeve knitted black T-shirt shows off most of the ink on his arms. Gods, I bet he smells good, too.

His hair’s down and swept over his head, and his lips quirk as he takes in his greeting party of four physically intimidating assholes, one still hovering up by the ceiling.

Thio spots me behind my own two assholes before his head tips in question.

“Can I help you?” Orok snaps at Thio again, this time folding his arms over his chest. The terrorizing effect is lost when the rest of the people with him do the same thing, to the point I think they must’ve rehearsed it; but no, they’re all sharing one drunk brain cell that collectively went, Be scary, make self big.

Thio sticks his hand out to Orok, amused but playing along. “Elethior Tourael, here for Sebastian Walsh.”

Orok lets Thio’s hand hang for a stretched-out beat in which he thrusts his jaw forward.

He finally shakes Thio’s hand. Hard. “Orok Monroe. It’s nice to meet you when you aren’t creeping out of my apartment with mysterious stains on your shirt.”

Thio’s eyes round.

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” I try to shoulder my way around Ivo and Fire Breather—Kenneth, actually—but they move to block me. “Seriously? Orok! This isn’t—”