Broomstick Breakdown

Broomstick Breakdown

“Damn, pity I can’t bottle him, because I’d make a fortune—after I’d enjoyed him first of course. Her dirty thoughts made her blush even deeper, and she thanked the Dark Lord that the man couldn’t read her mind even if her body seemed unable to stop betraying her.”

― Eve Langlais, Broomstick Breakdown

“Wait for me in the hall while I explain to this piece of shit why he’s never going to accost women again.” And assuage my bubbling rage over his nerve in touching what is mine.”

― Eve Langlais, Broomstick Breakdown

The ground came up to meet her and with one last quick prayer, she used her feet to slow her momentum, stumbling several feet before she came to a halt on the pavement. I didn’t crash. Yay! Sophia swung off her broom and glared at it, the problem easily evident. Most of the bristles had fallen out along with the magic that imbued them with flight.

Shoot. Now how am I supposed to get to the All Hallows Eve Convention on time? She was still staring at her only means of transportation in consternation when a man came out of the garage into the pool of light surrounding the gas pumps where she’d landed. He rubbed his hands on a rag, and the corded muscles of his arms gleamed with sweat even though the air was somewhat cool.

Any other time, she would have taken the time to admire the way the fabric of his black T-shirt stretched across an impossibly wide chest and clearly delineated a mountainous amount of muscle. If her concern over being late had not overshadowed all thought, she would have also noticed the way his well-worn jeans clung snugly to his groin and thickly muscled thighs. Oh, who was she kidding, even in the midst of a calamity, she couldn’t help but notice how hot the mechanic was with his tanned skin, ruffled dark hair, and strutting walk. Any other time, she would have enjoyed playing the damsel in distress, a routine that involved the shedding of clothes and inhibitions, but she had an appointment to keep, and while lateness ran in her blood, the senior witches of her coven frowned—with rather unpleasant results—on junior witches who couldn’t show up on time.

A malfunctioning broom leads to romance of the furry kind.