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13. Daisy

CHAPTER 13

Daisy

"N ow, let's switch," Franklin says as he holds the sheet up again. Sloan slides out of bed, gathering her robe around herself. She calls out, letting Daisy know she can turn around. Franklin quickly changes the sheets and then instructs Daisy to approach the table the same way he did Sloan. Once Daisy is settled on the table, he goes through all the same motions that he did with her, but now with Sloan.

When Sloan's hands find their way to her back, goosebumps emerge from the point of contact down to her toes. Her touch is firm but gentle.

"Is the pressure okay?" Sloan asks.

"Mm-hmm," Daisy hums, trying to resist the pressure building within her own body. Sloan's hands slide up and down her back, releasing pent-up energy she didn't even realize was there. Her hands are soft. Gentle. Warm. Her touch feels as if it was made only for Daisy, and its pleasantness is confusing. Reminding herself that Sloan suggested this experience as a trust exercise, Daisy swallows the lump in her throat, willing her body to relax under her nemesis's hands. As Sloan's hands slide down her back toward her barely covered ass, heat begins to build in her chest, moving down to her core. Tingling sensations build in her toes, fingertips, and…other regions as she falls into the pressure and rhythm of Sloan's hands working her muscles. She shouldn't enjoy being touched by Sloan. And she definitely shouldn't be wondering what Sloan's touch feels like elsewhere on her body.

Despite her body betraying her with the growing tension, the massage is oddly comforting, leaving Daisy feeling more at ease, if not slightly more sexually confused and frustrated, than when they started. In what seems like too short of a time, Franklin calls for the end of their session.

"I had a wonderful time showing you these techniques. I hope you also had an enjoyable time and learned something new," he says.

"Thank you. That was wonderful," Sloan responds with what looks to be a genuine smile. Daisy's head quirks to the side. That may be the first time Daisy has seen something real coming from Sloan.

"Yes, thank you so much. I feel much more relaxed," Daisy says, only half lying.

"Wonderful. Have yourselves a great rest of your stay!" he says before leaving the room. The click of the door behind him is like a spilled potion vial, setting off a reaction inside Daisy that she can't contain.

"What the hell?" she yells, startling Sloan who jumps at the volume. "Why did you push me into this? We barely know each other, and you thought having our hands all over me would be a good idea?"

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't— You could have—" Sloan sputters. Her eyes are wide with surprise, and from the pulsing Daisy can see at her throat, it looks like her heart is racing.

"No, you didn't think. I don't know how you do things, but I typically don't go rubbing up on people I barely know." The words are out before she can think about them, and instantly, she regrets it. Lashing out at Sloan feels like the only valid response to everything she feels internally—confusion, pleasure, an odd sense of connection to the one witch she wants nothing to do with. It's too much, and rather than let her magic loose, she manages to channel her feelings into anger at the glowing woman before her. She looks to her hands and sees sparks dancing at her fingertips. Fuck . She clenches her fists, trying to hide her magical frustration.

"Hey now! There's no reason for that," Sloan replies firmly. Though she attempts to push back, Daisy hears the hurt in her voice.

"I'm going back to my room to shower. By the time I'm done, I want you gone. This arrangement isn't working," Daisy says, gathering her clothes and leaving the room in a huff. She doesn't look back at Sloan as she goes, but she can only assume Sloan is as confused as she is.

When Daisy emerges from the bathroom an hour later, towel wrapped around her body, she steps into the room and stops short. Sloan is sprawled across the bed, lying on her stomach with her feet up in the air, as she reads some novel she must have brought with her. Irrational fury builds inside Daisy at the sight of her, creating sparks at her fingertips again. The lack of control over her power has grown from frustration and embarrassment to straight anger. Her emotions rule everything about her power, making Daisy feel small inside, like a new witchling all over again. Tears build at the edge of her eyes, threatening to spill over and reveal how broken she feels. She can't have that. She can't let Sloan see what she's doing to her. "I thought I said I wanted you gone by the time I came out?"

"You did," Sloan answers as she continues to read her book.

Daisy clenches her jaw. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I decided I didn't want to leave. I think this weekend is a great opportunity," Sloan replies.

"So it's about what you want, then?" Daisy asks incredulously, glaring at Sloan.

"No. It's about doing what is best for this event. It's about not letting you push me around anymore." Sloan answers, pushing herself up and swinging her legs around to sit up. Her eyes meet Daisy's unflinchingly. "It's about you realizing we need to work together if we want this event to be successful. So I suggest you find a way to get over yourself so we can actually be successful."

Daisy stares at her, stunned. "You witch…"

"Correct," Sloan deadpans.

"How dare you speak to me that way? You have no right. After all these years, you have no right to even look at me, let alone be in my hotel room."

"As much as I would love to take a trip down memory lane, we don't have time. Per the itinerary, we have a dinner reservation in half an hour. I suggest you go and get dressed," Sloan responds while she stands, moves to her bag, and pulls out a change of clothes.

Daisy huffs out a breath, fighting the urge to yell at her. To order her to leave. But she needs this weekend to go well. She needs to book the inn as the host site. With a hand clasped on her towel, Daisy angrily snatches her bag off the chair beside the bed and retreats to the bathroom once again.

She quickly changes, dressing in tight dark-wash jeans and a leopard-print sweater. She blow-dries her hair, tosses it into a claw clip, and does a quick and simple natural makeup look. When she reenters the bedroom area, Sloan is in a fitted black dress that accentuates her perfect curves and shows off her ample cleavage in the most delicious of ways—or so someone would think if they were into someone like her.

"You look nice," Sloan says softly after barely glancing at Daisy. Daisy knows she's trying to break the tension from earlier, but the compliment still hits a sensitive spot. It sparks an ember of warmth in her chest that almost feels like hope. Hope for what, she doesn't know, but it's been a while since she's felt anything other than anger, so she'll take it, even if it is from Sloan.

"Thanks. You too. I guess."

Sloan snorts. "Thanks. I guess."

Daisy checks the clock beside the bed. "Shall we go? You said the reservation was at six, right?"

"Yes. I just need to put shoes on."

"Me too." Her eyes follow Sloan as she crosses the room, bending over to slide her heels on. She bites her lip as her gaze roams the curve of her ass, noting how her dress hugs it so well.

Daisy opens the door, letting Sloan out first, and does her best not to notice the sway of her hips as she walks ahead.

"Welcome to Clover Restaurant," the host says. The host's dark red lips are plump, and the color is perfect next to her pale skin, clearly indicating she's a vampire. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, I think it will be under Daisy Hale."

The host looks down at her tablet and taps the screen several times before answering. "Ah, yes. We have you at one of our best tables. Right this way, please," she says, stepping away from the podium and leading them to a secluded corner of the restaurant. "Here you are."

"Thank you," Sloan responds before pulling out the chair so Daisy can sit first and then moves to her side, where the host does the same for her.

The restaurant is relatively dark, allowing the scattered candles on the tables to create a romantic atmosphere. The exposed brick and wood beams add an additional warmth to the space, and their secluded space means this meal has suddenly become more intimate than she expected. Exactly what she wants: an intimate meal with Sloan. She doesn't know what she did to the universe to make her suffer like this, but she needs to find out so she can rectify the situation.

The host goes through the usual rundown of wines and specials before leaving them in silence. Daisy looks around the restaurant and wishes for someone to take her place. She adjusts her bra strap under her sweater as she notes the flickering candle on the table and the brush of Sloan's knee against hers. She shifts back slightly, trying to put space between them and ignore the sudden heat spreading outward to her toes from the brief contact.

Sloan looks down at the table and runs her slender fingers along the edge of her napkin, which lies folded next to her plate. Daisy's eyes follow the gesture, a sudden longing to feel those fingers stroking her. She looks up to the ceiling, wishing for Hecate to strike her down here and now.

She picks up her napkin and places it on her lap. Then she takes it off and lays it on the table. She picks up the wine menu, admitting to herself that she's definitely going to need some to get through this.

The host has been gone for what feels like an eternity, and this silence between them is reaching an unbearable limit, but the motion of Sloan's fingers transfixes Daisy. Try as she might, she can't stop watching them. Wondering. Her nerves are on edge as her mind wanders to the last time she felt this much unease. It was on her first date with Stella. Fucking Hades. She looks around again, noting how truly intimate their table is and— goddess, why does this feel like a date? Does she think it's a date?

Say something.

Anything.

Break the tension.

"So, tell me about yourself," Sloan says.

Daisy blinks.

"What?" Sloan asks, a small smile breaking across her perfect features, lighting up her beautiful brown eyes.

"‘So, tell me about yourself.' That's your opener?"

"What else am I supposed to say? ‘Please tell me about your childhood trauma'?" Sloan replies.

Daisy blinks again. "There are definitely better openers than that."

"What would you have said?"

"I don't know. I couldn't think of anything."

Sloan laughs. Genuine. Silky. The sound surprises Daisy, like a ray of hope in a drought, full of promise and warmth. She holds her breath for a moment, not wanting to ruin the air surrounding them. Daisy shakes her head, attempting to rid herself of the overwhelming sense of want blossoming inside her. Wanting to hear it again. Wanting to be the one to make her laugh again.

"You okay?" Sloan asks.

Daisy clears her throat. "Yes," she squeaks. She swallows. "Yes, I'm fine. We should probably decide on what we want to order."

Sloan's smile falters. "You're probably right. Did you want to split an appetizer?"

"Sure."

"Great."

Silence settles over the table once again as they peruse the menu. Sloan opens her mouth to say something a couple of times but seems to stop herself. The moment between them seems to have passed, and a feeling of discomfort sits in Daisy's chest as she wonders what she can do to get it back. Or if she even wants it back.

The waitress arrives, takes their order, and then disappears, leaving them alone again. As the weighted silence continues to hang over the table, Daisy's thoughts focus on Sloan. She's known her all of her life. Or if not truly known her, she's known of her. Growing up in the Leeside supernatural community means they attended the same schools and parties, but they were never friends. In fact, Sloan made it quite clear when they were younger that they were not in the same social class and never would be. Then, when everything happened with her parents and she was left alone as a preteen, well, that made Daisy even more of a social pariah. Which Sloan and her group of shitheads took advantage of. They used every opportunity they could to remind Daisy that she would never be one of them. Little did they know she didn't need the reminder—she knew she wasn't like everyone else. Honestly, if it weren't for Petra, Daisy doesn't know if she would even be here today.

As she feels frustration from the past build, Daisy's power rises with it. A strong gust of air rushes in from behind them, bringing with it faint violet tendrils and whiffs of fresh flowers from outside. The gust blows out the candle on the table and knocks over their glasses, spilling water onto Sloan's lap. Sloan jumps out of her seat in surprised confusion as she uses her napkin to try and clean up the mess.

"That was weird. Where did that wind come from?" Sloan asks, looking around the closed-off corner their table is in.

Daisy feigns confusion as well and stands, trying to help clean up. "I don't know," she responds, signaling for the staff's attention. One of the waitstaff brings over supplies to clean and reset the table. For the moment they are left waiting, Daisy watches as the wrinkle of confusion between Sloan's brow deepens.

"I don't get it," Sloan finally says.

"It's not that big of a deal. Likely some kind of temporary disturbance, or maybe an ogre passing gas."

Sloan's eyes cut to Daisy, unamused. "Not funny."

"Honestly, forget about it. It's not a big deal, and no one was hurt. The table is ready again, and"—Daisy points to the staff approaching them with their hands full of plates—"it looks like our food is here."

Sloan's eyes narrow at her, but she retakes her seat opposite Daisy. If this is a date, it's one of the worst ones Daisy has ever been on.

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