And to do that, I needed magic, big magic, and there was exactly one person who could light me up like the Crescent Cove lighthouse.
I walked home. I ate dinner with Lupe, who told me about Antonio’s new grievance with his manager, and I said “mmm” in the right places, and the whole time the thought wormed its way deeper into my brain, completely at home, like it paid rent.
It would be for the turtles.
That was the loophole that made it fine. This had nothing to do with him—his stupid lip ring, his stupid smile that was just a little brighter around me. This was purely resource allocation. Witches had drawn power from willing participants for centuries, and he’d made it abundantly clear he was willing.
Then why did it leave a knot in my stomach?
I cleared my dishes without hearing what Lupe was saying and headed upstairs.
I lay in the dark doing absolutely nothing. A nothing that comprised opening Instagram, navigating to his profile, and clicking on his story.
The first was a video of him flexing his arms in the mirror, the text reading:
in case no one gave you this today
I didn’t know it was possible to roll your eyes so hard it hurt.
But when the next photo popped up, I nearly dropped my phone.
He was standing in front of Shark Bites, taking a selfie with an exaggerated frowny face.
best smoothies in town closed early today =( =( =(
Had he come to see me again?
I didn’t let my brain take over before I opened my DMs to see a video from him tossing El Soldado a piece of what looked like a protein bar.
el_tiburón
had to settle for your coworker
Wipe the stupid grin off your face, Torres.
This is for the turtles.
beachbruja
he’s going to be insufferable now, thanks for that
el_tiburón
any time
miss me like I missed you?
beachbruja
of course not
el_tiburón
you’re cute when you lie
That arrogant, over-muscled asshole.
Another message popped up.
