Free Jinx by Jennifer Estep Page B

I sniped. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can. Perhaps it’s because you go around town stealing art .”
    Debonair gave a not-so-modest shrug. “Everyone should have a hobby.”
    “And stealing is yours?”
    He smirked. A horrifying thought struck me, and my hair began to morph into a bush around my head.
    “You didn’t steal anything, did you? Tonight? At the museum?”
    “Would I do something like that?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and innocent.
    “Absolutely.”
    Debonair held his arms out, giving me an unobstructed view of his chest. His very broad, very solid chest. “Well, why don’t you come here and frisk me? And see if I took anything from the museum?”
    I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just being kinky. I stared at him, and he looked at me. His lips twitched. A slight little quiver that somehow made him more attractive. Making fun of me. He was making fun of me.
    Pushing my buttons, yet again.
    Somehow, he seemed to know every single one, even though we’d only spoken a few dozen sentences to each other.
    My power surged, my hair frizzed, and I just lost it.
    I threw my shoulder bag at him. The black missile hit Debonair in the chest and exploded.
    Literally.
    The straps snapped. The pockets sprang open. And the zipper ripped off the top. Pens and papers and lipstick and loose change went everywhere, plinking away into the dark, cool night. I sighed, knowing I’d never find everything. I was still picking up apples from the trick-or-treating fiasco, and they were a lot easier to spot.
    Debonair chuckled, amused by my humiliation. Red-faced, I curled my hands into fists, wishing I had the strength to pummel him. Where was Fiera when you really needed her?
    “Well, that was something,” Debonair said. “Do your purses always do that?”
    “Just when I’m around you,” I snarled.
    Debonair put his arms behind his head and leaned back on the windshield like it was a recliner. I could see him striking that same pose in bed, after a night of long, slow lovemaking—
    “I rather like you, Bella Bulluci. You’re spunky.”
    “Spunky?” I said, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. “You think I’m spunky? Wonderful.”
    “What’s wrong with spunky?”
    “Kids are spunky. Old ladies who speak their minds are spunky. Lots of things are spunky. I’m not one of them.”
    “What are you then?” Debonair asked. His blue eyes flashed like the Star Sapphire in the darkness.
    I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, why you decided to visit— and I use that word loosely—me tonight, but I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”
    “I told you why I’m here. I like you.”
    “You like me? Like me how? Like a cold sore on prom night? Because that’s exactly how I like you.”
    Debonair smiled. “That’s how you like me now . But you’ll warm up to me once you get to know me. Everybody does. So, how about dinner? Say, Monday night?”
    My mouth fell open. “Are you asking me out?”
    “Yes, on a thing called a date. I’m sure you’ve had at least one before.”
    “Of course I’ve been out on a date before,” I snapped. “But why would you want to go out with me?”
    “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Debonair asked, giving me an appreciative leer. “Those big hazel eyes, that mane of hair, those killer curves. You’re gorgeous, Bella. Not to mention that wild, passionate personality, just waiting to get out from under all this buttoned-up repression.”
    He thought I was gorgeous? A little thrill of excitement surged through me, along with my usual wave of static electricity. It lasted about three seconds. Then, I snapped back to reality.
    “Forget it,” I said. “I don’t date superheroes or ubervillains or anyone in between.”
    “Why not?” Debonair asked, looking puzzled.
    “Let’s be clear. I don’t like thieves, I despise ubervillains, and I hate superheroes. You’re a bit of