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HUNK3: Staying up late is my middle name,
baby. Unfortunately though,
I’ve gotta work.
I read the responses quickly, filing them away in my head. So Hunk3 was probably Zane. He was running tours tonight. But the other two…
HUNK1: You have dinner yet?
The very mention of food sent my stomach lurching. I hadn’t eaten all day.
No, actually. I’m kinda starving.
I sent out the message, figuring the die was already cast. Besides, I wasn’t in the least bit tired. The idea of going out to eat with
the guys was especially appealing.
HUNK2: ‘Kinda starving’ is a treatable
condition. Shoot us the address,
we’ll take care of the rest.
My stomach did a slow roll again, this time flip-flopping between excitement and hunger. I couldn’t believe what was about to happen tonight. What could happen tonight…
Without over-thinking it, I punched in the address of the shop and hit SEND.
HUNK2: Be there in a few, hang tight.
HUNK1: Yeah. What he just said.
HUNK3: Kicking myself I can’t make it tonight.
But I call a solo-date raincheck.
Got it?
The last message came with a devil emoji attached. I replied with a thumbs-up emoji of my own, then the words:
Roger that, boys. Over and out.
Seventeen
ROMAN
“Damn, Zane wasn’t kidding. That thing’s a beast.”
The armoire stood well over six feet tall, and was wider than any one of us could get our arms around. It looked absolutely ancient. Almost like it had been there since Salem was founded.
“And you want this moved where?” asked Erik, scratching at his stubble.
“Into that corner if you can,” Savannah shrugged, pointing to a path she’d already made. “If not, I guess I can live with it where it—”
“Oh it’s moving,” I promised her. “One way or another.”
Her shop was every bit as amazing as Zane had described it, filled with an amazing mix of rich colors and intricate detail. I didn’t know much about the occult, or palm reading, or any of that stuff for that matter. But after one look at Savannah, I knew she belonged here. She looked comfortable and at home surrounded by all the strange things in her shop. Every bit the fortune teller — or whatever she was — even dressed in the plain white blouse and tight black jeans that perfectly accented her incredible ass.
She smiled at me, and my heart melted. My brain called up images of our night together, back in her apartment. How much in heat she was, writhing beneath us. For the better part of the week, it was all I could think about.
