Page 17 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

Instead, she nods. “I can respect that, but if my lipstick and cell phone aren’t considered weapons of mass destruction, can I have them back, please?”

“Not the phone.”

She narrows her eyes again. “I need to call Morrie, my tutelary. He’ll be worried about me.”

“I’ve already called your inept mentor. I found his number saved in your phone—no lock, by the way—and took the liberty of explaining our predicament. He argued, of course. Said it wasn’t natural for a slayer and a gargoyle to ‘shack up together,’ though he did seem quite keen to keep you out of prison. He’d caught the news, you see. You’re prominently featured, and looking absolutely breathtaking, I might add. I’ve asked Jean-Luc to save the emissions.”

“What, so you can wank off to them?”

“More like so I can moon over a wonderful memory after you’ve gone.”

My words serve to discombobulate her. She blushes, sinks back, and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she says, “I’m guessing dinner with the President is off if I’ve gone viral.”

“I’m sure Secret Service will ensure that your meal arrives pre-cut.”

Before she can say more, supper is served, sharp knives and all.

We while away a couple hours over surf and turf. The minutes pass too quickly. With each course, she grows more voluble, and soon, we’re laughing together like old friends. Turns out, we have a lot in common.

“I can’t believe you know Teddy. You know that face he makes, right when he’s about to say something he’s going to regret?” She snickers, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Yes, like this.” I purse my lips and stick out my chin, closing my eyes to half-mast while sucking in my cheeks.

“Yes! I swear, those two weeks he stayed with my parents felt like a lifetime.”

Odd, though, how the four weeks she’ll spend with me already feel too short.

“I told you I knew slayers.”

“But you didn’t say that you nearly died from his halitosis.”

“Didn’t I? Perhaps he thinks bad breath a sure way to slay a gargoyle.”

And even though our humor is a bit childish and mean, we just continue laughing and egging each other on. It’s honestly the best couple hours I’ve ever spent.

After supper, I carry her into her room and place her on her bed. She groans and clasps her hands over her swollen belly.

“I’m never eating again,” she whines.

“I told you that those Canelés de Bordeaux are more filling than they look.”

“But they were so good.”

“Maybe the first seven,” I allow. She scoffed down the treats like they were made of air. In her defense, they are easy to eat. Hard to bake, though, at least, that’s what Mrs. Carmichael, my cook, tells me. “Can I get you anything for your tummy?”

She opens her lovely blue eyes. “Next time, warn me harder.”

I hope there’s going to be a next time. She’s loosened up so much with me that the laughter has settled into my soul. Bunny is funny, irreverent, and exactly what I’ve most needed ever since losing my place in the world.

She pats the bed beside her. “Can you stay a bit? If you tell me about your life, it might help me ignore my aching belly.”

I’m about to decline, and for good reason: my cock has been hard as stone since I first set eyes on her. Now, with her short dress barely covering her lacey underpants, it’s all I can do to remain a gentleman.

“Please?”

And those eyes—that pout—I can’t imagine a being who could resist her.

With a sigh, I round the bed and lay myself flat, head on another pillow, before I roll to my side. Under my jacket, my wings are scrunched. Some of those in my employ know what I am, but many don’t. I take pains to hide myself even while at home.