8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

I thought I wouldn't see Felix again until our date. I was wrong. Very wrong. Because Thursday night, he came to my rescue once again, my tiny Prince Charming. Not that I necessarily needed rescuing, as I probably could've saved myself quite easily.

But still.

I was detailing my car while parked in the driveway, bent over the front seat, vacuuming my cup holders when the anti-Christ himself decided to appear. The sun was setting, dipping behind the trees—which was why I felt the pressure to finish up before night truly fell.

What if Felix murdered another guest tonight? Or! Wanted to visit me? I couldn't be busy if that happened.

"Marshall Warden," Barry (the ballsack) addressed me.

I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Because I hated it more than I hated picnics and pop music combined. And that was saying a lot. It was grating and simultaneously too high and too low—and Barry always sounded like he was trying to speak two octaves lower than his natural voice, because he hoped it would make him sexy.

It did not.

It made him sound like a buffoon.

"Barry." I didn't use his last name. I didn't know it. I'd made a point not to know it. Out of rebellion. And every time someone said it—I mentally plugged my ears and sang La La La. Not knowing Barry's last name gave me the opportunity to give him new and more accurate names every time I thought of him.

"Are you going to the carnival?" Barry asked, without so much as a "how do you do." My mother would've found him repugnant. I knew that for a goddamn fact.

"Maybe." I hated him at my back, almost as much as I hated him at my front. God, he was ruining everything . If he didn't hurry the fuck up I wasn't going to finish cleaning my car—and then I'd have to do it tomorrow and I couldn't do it tomorrow because I was going on a date with Felix—and—

"We're looking for volunteers for the dunk booth."

Oh lord no. No, no, no.

What had I done to deserve this torture?

Oh.

Right.

Fuck.

"Barry, with all due respect, I don't have a single article of clothing in my wardrobe that I am comfortable "dunking". I climbed back out of where I'd been bent inside my car, leveling him with my friendliest —fakest grin. "Italian leather, you see." I kicked a leg out.

Go away, go away, go away.

"I'll let you borrow something from me," Barry grinned, not getting the hint whatsoever.

"No thank you."

He frowned, brow pinched, before his expression smoothed. Leaning in close—oh dear god, the man liked garlic—"But, Marshall ."

Oh dear god. No.

No.

He was about to say something terrible wasn't he?

He was going to bring out the C word.

The blasted C word.

"It's for charity ."

I was two seconds from smashing my head through my windshield so I could leave this conversation.

But then…I didn't have to.

"Hi, Barry." Felix's melodic voice popped up behind me. An adorable, exhausted-looking specter. I twisted to look at him, shocked to find him there at all. Glancing around, I realized the sun had set somewhere between Barry "swearing" at me, and accosting me in the first place.

Goddammit.

I wasn't going to finish cleaning my car after all.

That thought quickly fled, however, as my attention turned to Felix. I'm sure my surprise must've been written all over my face, because his lips twitched—like he was trying not to smile.

He looked lovely tonight. A soft cashmere sweater in a ridiculous shade of pink. Crisp black trousers. A pair of smart black dress shoes that completed the ensemble. He was gorgeous. Or—he would be—if he'd take off the damn hat and glasses.

My fingers twitched, aching to reach out and yank them off his head so I could see that pretty fucking face.

I must've spaced out staring at Felix, because I missed half the conversation he and Barry had been having. I only tuned back in when Felix turned to me, eyes dancing above the lip of his sunglasses.

"Is that okay?"

"I…what?" I blinked, confused. Felix laughed, eyes crinkling in the way I was growing quite fond of.

"Is it okay if I take your spot in the dunk booth?"

"I…what?" I repeated, brain broken.

"Barry said he already signed you up, because he'd been certain you'd say yes, seeing as it was for charity—and you occasionally work for a non-profit on the weekends." For a moment I was tempted to call bullshit. But then I remembered that I had actually told Barry that—one summer nearly five years ago when I'd been heading out to stalk my yearly kill and I'd needed an excuse to be gone for several weeks.

He hadn't bothered me ever since .

Oops.

Don't look at me like that.

I never claimed to be a good person.

Shame on you.

"Right…the non-profit," I agreed numbly. "But I…uh."

Uh, uh, idi-uh-t, I chided myself for stumbling over my words.

"The dunk booth is Friday," Felix was watching me, his tone gentle. "Tomorrow."

"But what about—" I glanced at him, then Barry, grimacing. I'd asked Felix out, but that didn't necessarily mean I wanted Barry to know about it. Not because I was ashamed—but because Barry was actually the worst. The fucking worst. And I didn't want him to know about anything that I did—especially stuff I cared about.

"Why don't you come with me?" Felix was still watching me, and he was acting so…so sweet . My chivalrous little gremlin man. His shoulders were squared, his arms tucked into his armpits. His pecs looked especially likable today with his arms crossed. I could see the supple curve of them through the clingy fabric of his oh-so-soft sweater. I kind of wanted to grab them to see how they felt as solid as they looked.

"Okay," I agreed, bitterly aware that we'd been cockblocked. Date-blocked? By Barry of all people. What an asshole.

Felix's Adam's apple bobbed, his attention turning from me back to Barry. "So. Is that fine? "

Already, he was leagues more confident than he'd been when we'd been together with Winnie. Like he was finally coming out of his shell.

I was seeing the true Felix, and he was just as gorgeous as his pitiful, needy monster had been.

Barry squinted at him, his permanent sunburn looking ruddier than normal as he scratched his head thoughtfully. He had Hair with a capital H. And by that, I meant—he was the kind of man who made his hair his entire personality, despite looking like a toe-thumb.

"You'll take the whole shift I signed him up for?" Barry was eyeing Felix warily, like he wasn't sure what to make of him. Almost like he was…scared of him.

Oh, god.

That made my dick twitch.

Or maybe—what made my dick react was the look Felix was giving him. Like he wanted to squash him beneath the heel of his lovely, vintage shoe. God , I'd pay good money to see that.

"Absolutely not," Felix's sunglasses slipped down his nose, his gaze threatening. I shivered, observing him with barely concealed lust. "I'll work the booth for an hour—out of courtesy to you and the charity you're working for. You'll have to fill the other three hours."

Barry had been planning on making me work four hours in the booth?

Goddammit. I had never been more tempted to murder someone .

Don't shit where you eat, don't shit where you eat, don't shit where you eat.

"But—"

"No buts," Felix's gaze was positively chilly. "You didn't ask for Marshall's consent before signing him up. That was incredibly inconsiderate. This is your problem. You fix it. I think taking an hour shift—considering the fact that you were the one that was rude in this situation—is more than enough."

Barry's glare was not nearly as pretty as Felix's.

"Fine," Barry frowned as he stepped away from the hood of my car. Victory tasted like Felix's shampoo. Especially when I leaned down to surreptitiously sniff him as he twisted to glare at Barry all the way off the property.

My rabid little chihuahua man.

The awful squeak of Barry's flip-flops echoed through the otherwise peaceful night as he made his way back down the street, past the park, past the picture perfect houses, toward his evil lair at the end of the block.

I only watched him until he was out of ear shot, and then I turned on Felix, my hands finding his hips. Rubbing at the cashmere—even softer than it'd looked—I ducked my head low.

"My hero ," I murmured, breath curling against the shell of Felix's ear. It ruffled his hair and I noted—with surprise—that he'd already bleached away the hint of roots I'd seen the night before .

"I ruined our date," Felix hummed back. We were pressed close enough together that I felt him shiver against me.

God, I wanted to make him do that again.

"You didn't," I promised, hands slipping further back of their own accord. They didn't even feel like my own hands. Especially when they greedily—shyly slid beneath the hem of his sweater to tease at his skin. Even here, it was chilly—chilly as the night air. "I promised we could stay in."

"I know," Felix responded, head tipping back as he looked at me. "But I can do this…for you." He sucked in a breath. "I want to do this for you.

"You do?"

"I do."

Now that Barry was gone, I had no qualms left. Not about this.

So I did the thing I'd been aching to do since the first night Felix had come to me for help.

I tore his hat off his head.

Then I threw it as far away from us as possible.

It fluttered to the ground at the other end of my driveway—traveling surprisingly far—but not far enough. It would never be far enough. "How many of these fucking things do you have?" I asked, horrified.

Felix was shaking. For a moment, I worried I'd offended him to tears. But when my gaze snapped to his face, my eyes wide with worry—I was assaulted with the prettiest fucking sight I'd ever, in all my life, seen.

Felix was grinning . Not a small, happy smile. Not shy. Not polite. Not contained. No. It was wide—and brilliant—brighter than a supernova. His eyes crinkled, his nose scrunched. Dimples lined the sides of that lovely, expressive mouth—and I was… oh .

Oh, my knees were weak.

I leaned hard against my car, letting it take my weight because I was certain if I'd been standing on my own, I'd be on the ground already.

Felix was…so much more than I'd expected.

An accidental killer, a cat wrangler, a crocheting maniac.

A prince. A hero. A man who never wanted others to feel lonely, despite being alone himself.

I'd never contemplated Heaven. Even if it existed—I knew I'd never make it there.

But now I realized that if Heaven was real—

It looked like Felix's smile.

It sounded like his laughter.

And it smelled like lemon soap.