Page 44 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

Bryce staggered. Tripped over his own feet.

Grabbed on to the shelf behind him for support.

Time slowed for two breathless heartbeats as the shelf wobbled, rocked on edge, teetered—then plunged forward, slamming into Bryce.

He crashed into me. My back smacked against the opposite shelf.

More fireworks thundered, vibrating in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the shelf behind me to fall like a domino, squishing Bryce and me between them like marshmallows in a s’more.

It didn’t fall, though. It groaned, shuddered, but held steady, pressed hard against my spine. The heavy weight of Bryce and the shelf rested against my ribs.

I cracked an eye open. A steel blade glinted under my chin.

I felt my entire face morph into an expression of shock as every inch of my skin tried and failed to shrink away from the sword millimeters from my neck. I blinked back tears, even though I knew this was for the best.

He, just like Will, had seen the truth about me; all the effort he’d found appealing was a facade.

Realizing I was not worth caring about, he’d gotten over his infatuation.

He hadn’t stuck by my side to be supportive.

Since finding out I was the villain, he’d been biding his time, getting close, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“There’s no need to hold me at knifepoint,” I said bitterly, the alcohol in my veins igniting over the way he was treating me after everything we’d been through, as though I really were evil. “I would have given myself over willingly, you know. I would have done anything for you, and you—”

“Stop moving.” Bryce’s wide eyes glinted inches from mine, sparks reflecting off his irises.

“Or what?” I spat.

“You’ll get yourself hurt.”

Fireworks crackled.

“Is that a threat? You couldn’t. You wouldn’t .” My mouth twisted, and I lifted my chin. Orange light bounced around the room. When I next spoke, my voice was grave. “Do it, then.”

“Would you shut up ?” Bryce bellowed.

Startled by his unusual display of assertion, I did, indeed, shut up.

“Look at the damn sword.” He jerked his chin down. “It’s not even pointed at you.”

I carefully looked at the sword. To be fair, it wasn’t pointed at me, the sharp edges aimed up and down.

“Now look at the million-pound shelf currently wedging me against you.”

And okay, the shelf was hard to miss, tipped over the top of us, Bryce’s back the only thing keeping it from crushing me. The elbow of Bryce’s sword arm was braced against the shelf by my shoulder, which meant the blade, by default, extended across my neck.

Bryce grunted as he struggled to hold said heavy-looking shelf. “On three, help me push.” His expression was hard and unreadable. “One. Two. Three.”

Gingerly, I reached around him, avoiding the sword, and pushed the shelf.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then I dug in my heels, and Bryce chanted a deranged string of curses under his breath, and it gave, swinging upright, where it almost seemed like it would stay before it decided not to.

It plummeted backward, smashing to the floor in a mess of flying jewels, splintered wood, and shattering glass.

When the last pearl rolled across the floor and the last shelf creaked and settled to a new resting place against the marble, Bryce turned to me, jaw set.

He threw the sword to the side. It knocked over an important-looking display case holding a very large crown, which promptly joined the rest of the priceless artifacts littering the floor.

It was a good thing the fireworks concealed all the clanging and crashing, otherwise, someone might barge in to see what the commotion was about.

“You think I followed you into a weird magical world, almost had sex with you, and SAVED YOU FROM AN UNDEAD SKELETON, only to decide to kill you ?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. “When you say it like that, it does sound like there are some logical steps missing.”

“ Some logical steps missing?” he repeated, a vein throbbing at his temple. “If logic were a Fitbit-wearing suburban mom competing with a bunch of other Fitbit-wearing suburban moms to see who could collect the most steps in a day, she would fucking lose because she would have no steps .”

“None? That’s a bit harsh. I don’t think you should shame logic like that. Exercise can be a very triggering topic—”

Bryce crossed the floor, jewels crunching under his boots.

Strobing light from the fireworks show bounced off his body.

Reaching me, he grabbed my chin, firm and gentle all at once, blazing eyes boring into mine.

“I’d never hurt you. I stole the sword to give to you because being a hero used to be your dream. ”

I was way too drunk for this. “Okay,” I squeaked. “That’s… neat.”

“I was trying to be nice,” Bryce said, gentler.

There he went again, poking at my heart with a stick—or in this case, a sword. “You really should betray me,” I said meekly. “It makes sense.”

“I will never abandon you, you donut. Also”—his eyes flicked down—“your no-kissing rule is annoying.”

He released my chin.

Before I knew what was happening, I followed after his retreating hand.

Slotted my feet between his. Wove my fingers in his shirt.

In the back of my foggy mind, I wondered what on earth I was doing.

At the forefront, I heard only Bryce saying not kissing me was annoying, and that felt like the least annoying thing he’d ever said.

“If you don’t like the rule,” I said, “then break it.”

A challenge, a challenge that scared me far more than when I’d told him to “do it” a few minutes ago when he held a blade to my skin. I lifted my chin, pulse points in my neck pounding.

Without hesitation, he grabbed my waist, cupped my jaw in his hand, and pressed his lips to mine.

My stomach dropped to my toes. His lips caressed mine, once, twice, and all my thoughts fluttered away. The world was topsy-turvy, wibbly-wobbly, completely perfect, and utterly frightening.

I didn’t expect him to kiss me like he did, hard and slow all at once, like he could go on just kissing me forever.

His hand found the back of my neck, pulling me closer, angling my head and coaxing my lips apart.

The ring in my lip clicked lightly against his teeth.

Sweet champagne lingered on his mouth, and I pulled his bottom lip between mine, gliding my tongue across to taste it.

He shuddered and sighed—a ragged sound of sweet, blissful torture.

My heart twisted in anguished relief. All my pain and worries melted away.

This was all that mattered for now. In this moment, I did not care about anything else, and it was wondrous. I did not care, did not care, did not care. There was only the scent of him, the tender glide of his lips, and the gentle press of his tongue.

I never would have suspected my gloomy neighbor kissed like he belonged on the front of a romance novel.

I never would have imagined someone so prickly had such impossibly soft lips.

I never would have thought a man who hated happiness was adorably sensitive, vulnerable, and sweet in his own broken kind of way.

It made my heart ache, knowing all this time, he’d been just as lonely as me.

“There you two are.”

Bryce and I peeled apart. I nearly fell, the floor tilting up with my sudden movement, my head still sloshing with champagne. Amy, the biggest cockblock ever, stood in the doorway. Outside there was darkness, the room now eerily quiet.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“I am saddened to report the undead are not dead as you supposed,” Amy said, and my stomach lurched.

“That is to say, the reanimated have not been rendered re-un-animated.” His frown deepened.

“That is to say, you did not kill the dead—oh, heavens. The undead are still alive. You did not defeat them as you thought.”

“We didn’t?” I repeated, trying to act surprised. “Are you sure they’re not dead—re-un-animated—fuck— defeated ?”

Nodding, Amy stepped farther inside. “I am afraid so. They must have simply run away of their own accord, not because of your magic, and certainly not back to their graves. It seems their attack was not in earnest, but rather a diversion.”

“A diversion.” I gulped.

“In all the chaos, the king’s hand has gone missing,” said Amy.

Bryce squinted. “Oh, damn, the skeletons chopped it off? We’d better find it quick if we have any hope of reattaching it.”

Amy gave Bryce an odd look. “The hand of the king, Marty.”

“Does the king name all his appendages?” Bryce asked with interest.

“The king’s right-hand man, Bryce,” I hissed with forced patience.

If the skeletons were a diversion for the kidnapping, then that meant the skeletons were working with the kidnapper.

How was that possible? We knew who had resurrected the army, and it certainly wasn’t the kidnapper.

Maybe the kidnapper had found the army and somehow coerced them into working for them?

My thoughts were too muffled from champagne to make sense.

“This is obviously all the work of the Evil One,” said Amy. “They took General Thimblepop, and now the hand. We should gather the council and discuss matters, perhaps over a nice bottle of mulberry ale. It seems the Evil One is targeting those in command.”

“Except for Winston.” I pointed out the perplexing exception to the kidnapper’s pattern.

“Indeed,” said Amy, but his voice faded as he finally took in the scene around him. The shattered display cases, splintered wood, dented gold, and scattered jewels.

“It was like this when we got here,” Bryce said unconvincingly, nudging a fist-sized diamond under a rug with his toe.

Amy shook his head sadly. “The two of you may very well be the worst heroes in the history of all Chosen Ones.”