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Unfortunately, I’m a sucker for the tall, dark, and devilish type. The more red flags and pitchforks they’re waving, the better.
If there’s one thing I really hate, it’s when someone underestimates my intelligence. Especially when that someone is male and inconveniently hot.
A new line of ink, bold, fresh, and burning white-hot like a brand, had appeared on the inside of my wrist. It was her name. And I knew without a doubt that this woman who walked out of my dreams and into my shop on a rainy October night was always meant to show up. Because, somehow, she was part of the curse too.
It’s a time-tested truth that the best-looking men are always the absolute worst.
“What you’re asking for, smart-ass, is a spanking.”
She tasted like sweet dreams and bad decisions.
“You don’t know me, but I’m as stubborn as a drunk goat on a narrow bridge.”
This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. Which is saying something, considering I once accidentally joined a cult because they had really good tacos.”
I felt tied to her in a way I didn’t understand. Physically, it made sense. But what I felt inside my chest—that aching, softening, melting sensation—made no sense at all.
She wasn’t a stranger anymore. Or an adversary. Or even the key to unlocking a curse. She was mine.
“You know what?” I shouted, jabbing a finger in his creepy direction. “I won’t be intimidated by a faceless, undead weirdo! You and your boneyard stank can go suck an egg!”
It figured I’d fall for a witch. My taste in women always ran toward the feral ones.
