“Don’t I get your number, too?” I know I’m whining, but he only grins deeper.
“You’ll have to trust me to reach out,” he teases, and I pout as I step into his space again.
“Alright. You run the show. Just… please…” I press a soft kiss on the very corner of his mouth. “Please call me.”
“Tease,” he mutters, then nods. “I swear.”
Chapter 7
Azrael
Score one for self-restraint.
These arrows are no fucking joke. I’ve decided that every Cupid—interim or not—needs to experience their powers before going out into the world.
Shit’s straightdangerous.
I’m sitting here, trying to concentrate when every cell in my brain—and let’s be honest, my dick—is thinking about the way Beau was ready to devour me. Leaving him all heavy-lidded and kissable, with his huffing breaths and flushed cheeks, washard.
Harder than putting a book down when you’re in the middle of an amazing chapter, or needing to get up and pee when a cat is making biscuits on your tummy.
Hard, hard.
Because of this, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind as I headed towards the door. A special blend of anxiety steeped in my stomach—one that was a completely foreign mix of emotions. Desperation to stay by his side and equal desperation to get away from him.
It all mixed into the need to flee before I did something stupid. If I didn’t leave, I’d leap straight into his arms and incinerate all these paper-thin boundaries to ashes. He stopped me, extraordinarily confused, and asked where I was going.
He’d driven us there, and I’dforgotten.
What if I’d just poofed out of existence and left him thinking he’d gone insane?
“Uh, Uber?” I’d responded, only to have him glance at my empty hands that were not, in fact, holding a phone. I didn’t evenowna phone at that moment, which is why I couldn’t give him my number.
BecauseI didn’t have a number.
It was a very confusing few minutes.
I blamed it on low blood sugar, naturally, so now Beau is also concerned about my make-believe insulin issues. With no better solution, I reluctantly agreed to let him drive me back to the grocery store, where I swore my cousin would pick me up.
The cousin with fake Tourette’s, if you’re struggling to keep up.
I need a diary to manage the lies, and a family-sized bottle of Pepto Bismol to manage the guilt-induced heartburn.
My clothes were forgotten in his dryer, which meant I had to go inside the store wearing his oversized sweats and t-shirt. The cashier shot me a few funny looks as I paid for my new cell phone and prepaid minutes but kept her comments to herself.
Phones don’t work in the Cherub’s realm, so I’ve been leaping at the chance to make more matches. Honestly, it’spitiful how often I’m visiting Earth. But being on Earth means texting Beau, which leads to planning for a date.
Adate.
Half of me worried he would change his mind as soon as the convenience of a hookup was out of the question. That he’d leave me hanging, and I’d be nursing a wounded heart.Better now than later, I reasoned, but the very moment I texted him, all of those insecurities were squashed.
He had no chill whatsoever, and didn’t waste a single second before he responded. And then used a heart-eye emoji. It was so sweet, I actuallyaww-ed out loud.
I’m completely in the dark about the date because he begged me to let it be a surprise, and I caved. Of course I caved. The man could ask me to lie on his front step and let him wipe his feet on me, and I’d wear my fuzziest sweater to ensure he got all the dirt off his boots.
Now I’m standing in my closet, thumbing through everything I own. It really shouldn’t matter what clothes I choose, considering the first time we met, I ended up covered in flour.
But it feels like a do-over, and I want to make a good (second) first impression.
