Free A Witch In Time: Magic and Mayhem Book Three by Robyn Peterman Page B

intention to kill your boner. I’m pretty sure my Little Red Riding Hood just locked the door and threw away the key.”
     
    Mac sat back down and grinned like an idiot as he tried to stop laughing. “Well, at least we know what kills the mood.”
     
    “This is true,” I said as a grin pulled at my lips. “I suppose if we get out of hand we can just shout Fabio’s condoms .”
     
    “How about we shorten it to FC. I’m fairly certain if I use the term too frequently my balls will permanently retreat to my stomach,” Mac begged in a brief respite from his laughter.
     
    My grin now matched his and I couldn’t hold back my giggles. Most guys would be mad that the amorous part of the afternoon was thwarted. This gorgeous man thought it was hilarious. Goddess, I was totally in lo…
     
    No. Not yet. I wasn’t fixed and functional enough for the tree house.
     
    He deserved me at my best—or a good as I could get. And so did I.
     
    “Do you wanna watch TV?” I asked, all of a sudden feeling shy. I hoped to hell he wasn’t poking around my brain and hearing all my thoughts. It was one of his gifts—a most annoying one.
     
    “I would love to watch TV with you. I also might be persuaded to massage your pretty feet,” he replied as he stood and held out his hand.
     
    “Can we watch Project Runway ?” I asked as I took his hand and followed him to the den dragging the food with me.
     
    He paused and winced just a tiny bit. “How about for every two episodes of Project Runway , I get one episode of Deadliest Catch ?”
     
    “I can live with that.” I cuddled up to him on the couch and rested my head on his strong chest. He smelled so good and I felt so safe.
     
    I found out Mac was very opinionated when it came to fashion. Much to my amused dismay, he yelled at the TV through all four episodes of Project Runway. However, his appreciation for Tim Gunn made his bad TV etiquette tolerable.
     
    The foot massage was as close to an orgasm without having sex as I’d ever experienced and DeeDee’s casserole was the bomb. The afternoon was perfect. He was perfect. The cuddling was perfect. It was just a damn great sex-free afternoon with a handsome, funny, smart man who laughed at my jokes and challenged me in ways I’d never known.
     
    Now I just had to get perfect.
     
    Well, maybe perfectly imperfect.
     
    Hopefully that would be enough.
     

CHAPTER 9
     
    Rehearsal was going swimmingly … that is, if you enjoyed drowning in hell.
     
    “Um, Sassy,” Fabio choked out as he partially covered his eyes. “What exactly are you doing?”
     
    Sassy was playing my daughter Christina. While circling Jeeves, she was spastically and sexually humping the air around him. This was appalling and wrong on every level as Jeeves was playing Christopher—her brother.
     
    “No, no, no! I did not write that,” Bob the beaver insisted with a look of horror on his face. “She can’t do that.”
     
    “I know,” Fabio hissed under his breath. “I’m trying to let my actors have free rein at interpretation. It makes for happier thespians.”
     
    “Not working,” I muttered as I watched Sassy continue her hump-walk. Thankfully she was wearing her own clothes. I’d hate to see an outfit of mine performing such a lewd move—I’d have to burn it.
     
    “There are no lesbians in my play either,” Bob snapped, wielding his script like a sword aimed at my dad.
     
    “Everyone STOP!” Fabio yelled, bringing the rehearsal abruptly to a halt.
     
    There were about ten of us in the Community Center waiting our turn to be directed by my dad who was incredibly close to zapping the hell out of his staff and cast.
     
    “Let’s get a few things straight here. The word thespian is now off limits. Forever. I am very open to your thoughts and character ideas. However, in the end, this is not a democracy. I see the big picture while you as actors only see your part. Sooooo, while humping the personal space of the man