The Trouble with Spells

Chapter 12

Chapter 12 

    In the days following our incident, I took extreme care how I conducted myself around Vance. I found myself dressing as modestly as possible, covering any exposed skin that could be construed as seductive, and I also paid special attention to how I touched or kissed him. I only held his hand now, instead of running my hand down his arms or across his chest, and when we kissed, I was careful to keep it chaste and pure, pulling away before things could get too intense. I assumed these things were helping him, since he didn't mention it and life seemed to progress forward as usual.

    On this particular evening, we were sitting on my bed, working on some of our homework. I snapped my math book closed when I was finished, using a magic to float it over and neatly place it on my desk.

    "Hey, I'm getting ready for bed now," I said, placing a tiny peck on his cheek. He hardly acknowledged me, giving a slight grunt as he continued to work on his English homework.

    I went to my dresser, lifting the shopping bag which contained the items I'd purchased today after school, and went into my adjoining bathroom to change. I took out the thick flannel pajamas—a size too large for me and covered in bunnies—looking at the childish design. They'd even come with a pair of bunny slippers.

    After quickly dressing, I shoved my feet into the slippers and turned to check my reflection in the dressing mirror on the back of the door. The image was totally what I was going for—completely unflattering and very unattractive. I couldn't even make out my shape underneath, so I figured it should be okay to wear around Vance.

    Pulling my hair back from my face, I twisted it into a tousled bun on the top of my head then washed off my makeup and brushed my teeth. Checking the mirror one more time to be sure I looked positively wretched, I opened the door and stepped through.

    Vance had apparently finished his homework during my absence and was lying stretched out on my bed. Resting with his arms behind his head, his legs drawn out with his feet crossed at the ankles, he was staring at the ceiling, looking completely lost in thought. He glanced in my direction momentarily and averted his gaze back to his study of the ceiling.

    I smiled to myself. Success, I thought. He barely looked at me.

    "It isn't working, you know." his voice interrupted my thoughts.

    "Hmmm?" I questioned, lifting my eyebrows and pursing my lips.

    "The clothes—those horrible things you've been wearing. Shirts to your chin, pants down to your ankles, the bad hairdos, the quick kisses and hugs, none of it's working."

    "What do you mean?" I was trying to appear as innocent as possible.

    He sat up suddenly, getting off the bed and striding over to me. He grabbed both of my arms and yanked me roughly against him.

    "I mean it isn't working," he said, his voice low and seductive. His face was so close to mine his lips brushed across my forehead when he spoke. "You're trying to help, and you're making it worse."

    I was paralyzed. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to.

    "When you wear your hair like this, I want to rip it down so I can run my fingers through it." Without him moving a muscle I felt the magic emanating from him. Instantly, my hair was released from its bonds, falling to cascade down around my face. His hands moved along my body until he reached my face and slid his fingers to tangle in it. He grabbed a couple of fistfuls, pulling back on it, causing my face to angle up toward his.