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Ellis tugs at the hem of the dress uncomfortably. “This is ridiculous. After we eat, we have to go to my apartment and get some clothes. I can’t wear this.”
“Yes, your place. Um, go. Yes, we will. Food. Yes, downstairs.”
Ellis looks at me like I might have just sprouted a dick from my forehead. Because she’s looking at my face, not at my waist, and she still seems equally disgusted and unsure. She’s probably brain-scanning me and reading all my taboo thoughts about ripping off her clothes and finding out what exact shade of color her nipples are. I’m an artist, so I know my colors. I imagine they’d be a dark raspberry swimming in a sea of alabaster cream.
It’s official. I have legitly divorced myself from my own sanity.
“Food. Yes. Okay.” Ellis nods. She gives me another strange look then walks away, leaving me there practically panting and drooling in a puddle. I can smell the scents of my shampoo and body wash. Spicy. Invigorating.
Those scents are now on Ellis’ skin and in her hair. Lord. God. Get a grip, corndog. I mean horndog. Right. Food, downstairs, eating. Then clothes for Ellis. Then back to trying to figure out the cursed ring.
I somehow make it down the stairs without toppling over from being so dick-heavy in the front—I swear a raging erection can throw you off balance quite easily. I don’t fall on my face, and I don’t trip over my feet on the way to the kitchen. I have zero shit under control when it comes to my dick, but I manage to edge myself around the island while Ellis is putting food onto two plates. It still smells divine, but not as good as I now know she smells.
I just have to give up on this because my thoughts are going to think, and my body is going to react, and my dick is going to…well, I can only imagine. Apparently, I can’t stop it, so I go into immediate action, trying to do damage control, which means continuously standing behind the island, so it hides me from the waist down, eating like that, and trying not to look at Ellis. Or inhale her, which is hard. Her delicious scent is barely masked by the smell of peppers and onions. And that’s saying a lot because peppers and onions are potent beasts.
“Are you alright?” Ellis asks as a noodle dangles from her fork. She slurps it into her mouth like a pro, and I’m impressed. “You look funny. I swear, if you poisoned this, I’m going to kill you.”
“If I poisoned myself, you’ll kill me?”
“Uh, I guess I didn’t think that through.”
“No.” Ellis spears some broccoli and brings it to her mouth. Has anyone ever looked so deliciously tantalizing while eating broccoli? Not that I can remember. “But I’m glad you agreed to finally let me leave the house.”
I crunch down hard on a water chestnut. “I’m driving.”
“I should have known there was a catch.” She doesn’t look mad. Instead, she just looks resigned.
I guess the conversation about being on the same team must have sunk in. Maybe we both want to figure out the curse that badly. Ellis suddenly sighs and sets her fork down, and I’m instantly alert because a new sadness has crept into her eyes and is filling them, making them all green and teary, and I don’t like it. I’m not into being a superhero, where I fix all the bad in the world, but for just this one moment, I wish I could be. I wish I could fix all the stuff that makes Ellis sad. And I don’t even know her. I don’t know what any of it could be, but I want to.
I set my fork aside too. I didn’t realize it, but I’m nearly finished. I guess when a person’s extra hungry, hoovering up food is a real thing. Somehow, an entire plate of stir-fry just disappeared. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Curse? Is that you? My stomach rumbles, and no, I guess it was just me.
“Hey…what is it?”
Ellis’ eyes start twitching. Both of them. I have never seen anyone capable of doing that, and my god, it must be uncomfortable. “What’s what?”
“You look sad right now. And you’re not eating.”
“You noticed? Hmm.” She twists the ring on her finger and studies it thoughtfully. Now, something is twitching in her temple—a vein. And it’s throbbing in time with her eyes.
“Ouch. That looks uncomfortable.”
“What does?”
“The…your eyes…your forehead…” She looks at me, baffled. “Uh, never mind. But you do look sad. I…will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Her lips thin, and she picks up her fork and plays with her food. Thank goodness, because if she’s moving stuff around on her plate, it means she’s not sticking the fork into my eye. “Nothing,” she finally whispers in a way that means everything, but she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and she’s not just being mopey for my sake. This is some real dark shit she’s dealing with.
