His Temporary Assistant

Another thing I could thank PMS for. He’d tossed my moon-topped sex toy on the sofa, where Rainbow had found it spearing up between the cushions like a glass simulated penis.

Which had led to a fun convo about chasing your pleasure wherever and however you could, and did I need the link to her favorite lube, the one that offered both pleasant warming sensations and lots of rainbows and tingles?

I’

d declined. Sparks literally shot off already from my connection with PMS. Any more tingles and a beloved body part might end up maimed.

“But I get the impression you have a man in your life.”

I looked back out the window. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it? Is he married?”

“What? No. Definitely not. I don’t go there at all.”

“I didn’t either. I usually found out too late when it happened. But a wedding ring isn’t necessary to make a man unavailable.”

“Oh, that’s definitely not our problem.”

I hadn’t meant to elaborate. And in reality, there really shouldn’t be an us. We didn’t fit together in any logical sense. It was just chemistry. It had to be.

Despite what he said, I suspected PMS was looking for the perfect woman to step in and fill his house with two-point-five kids and host dinner parties. He might not even realize how well he was built for exactly that.

That wasn’t me. I wasn’t even sure I wanted children. I hadn’t ever really considered it. But PMS had future stamped on his very patrician forehead. Didn’t he understand we were probably just a phase?

Even if it was getting harder to convince myself of that.

Having a witch for a girlfriend was novel at first. Sex was all well and good—and mercy, we were really good at that part—but it didn’t make for a lasting relationship. And if I did let him all the way in, I wasn’t sure I could actually let him go.

It was better not to get used to him.

“Ahh, so it’s just sex?”

“Yes—no. I don’t know. We’re intense, and the only reason he’s into me is because we were thrown together for a week. He’s April’s boss. I filled in for her this week when she went on vacation.”

“Why do you sell yourself short?” My mother curled her fingers tighter on the wheel. “He sees how beautiful and capable you are. Bonus points that you have a good sexual side.”

“Yes, but it’s too fast.”

“Sometimes it happens fast.”

“Yeah, and then it burns out.”

“It might.”

I jerked my gaze toward her.

She flipped her honey-colored hair over her shoulder. A few thin braids with wooden beads clacked together as she huffed out a sigh. “It might just be a fling. Is there a reason to cut things off? Is he moving out of state?”

“No.”

“Is he dying?”

“What? No.” Just the thought of him not being on this earth made my chest ache.

“Then what’s the issue? Take it slow if you want. That’s how relationships work, kiddo. It’s not an instantaneous thing.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”