Their gazes held a beat too long, heavy with history. Predictably, Alex's groin began to tighten, and the history became a mutual flare of heat. That was all it took to shove him tight against his slacks: the idea that, just maybe, his chance with her wasn't completely lost.
Zoe turned away before he could. "Come on," she said, waving him along from over her shoulder. "Let's get pizza."
There was no question Magnus had an arrogant streak, but when he'd imagined losing Zoe, it hadn't been to another man. He'd never heard her speak of this Alex, not even once. Unfortunately, her reticence might mean Alex was more important, rather than less.
His face felt stiff from his uncustomary frown as he held the lobby door for the others. Zoe was laughing with the second man, Bryan, doing her sweet Zoe best to put him at ease, as if she hadn't just shot metaphysical laser beams into his lover's eyes. Bight about then, Magnus wouldn't have minded watching both men dematerialize.
He'd wanted to finish this night alone with Zoe, to get a chance to mend his earlier missteps, to pleasure her in a hundred delicious ways, preferably until he heard her scream with orgasm. Now he was stuck in this ridiculous love quadrangle, at least for the space of a meal and maybe more. For all he knew, she'd be offering to host the haunted visitors in her home!
This doleful possibility transformed his frown into a glower. They were walking around the inn to its parking lot, dropping Alex and Bryan off at their car before returning to his. Magnus was trailing behind the trio with heavy steps when the Will-Be, his fickle friend, decided to give him more of what he was dwelling on. Despite his super fairy coordination, a tiny crack in the asphalt caught the toe of his wonderful yellow sneaker and sent him sprawling flat on his face.
The Will-Be wasn't trying to hurt him, just to remind him that his current thoughts were not creating in the direction of his true desires. Despite knowing this very well, he still cursed up a blue streak when he felt the scrape on his cheekbone.
"Magnus!" Zoe cried, rushing back to him.
Far too annoyed with himself to be pleased by that, he cursed a few colors more.
Zoe crouched to help him sit up. "What's the matter with you tonight? The way you're acting, I feel like I ought to be checking you for spirit attachments."
He held her hand harder than he had to. "Aren't I allowed to be in a bad mood?"
"Well, yes, but—Magnus, nothing gets you down." She stroked his hair off his forehead, wincing when she saw the scrape. "Your cheek is bruised. You should go home and put some ice on it before it swells."
Oh, he should go home and let her have her fun eating pizza with her high school flame. Magnus loved pizza. It was, he thought, a creation of profound human genius. Being bothered that he wasn't going to eat it with her tonight was not terribly adult, but in truth he felt like he was five years old, his feelings hurt by an older playmate, and mulishly determined not to cry. It seemed to take all his strength to unlock his jaw.
"Zoe," he said, his hand cupping her warm, soft cheek. "Do you know how much you mean to me?"
She let out a laughing sigh. "Magnus, I'm not sure any woman could figure that out."
It was a comeback he didn't have an answer for, at least not with an audience. When he did nothing but make a speechless fish mouth, Zoe pulled away from his touch.
"Go home," she said. "I'm sure, we'll both feel better in the morning."
Huh, Magnus thought. Good thing one of them was sure.
Zoe's fairies fled the instant Alex came in the door.
She thought she heard one cry Traitor! as it disappeared, but the imprecation was too squeaky to be certain.
Corky, at least, had no objection to her guests. The kitten woke up long enough to lap some milk and practice his nascent pouncing skills on a bottle cap. Zoe's kitchen wasn't big, but it had a homey ambience, with vintage appliances and old-fashioned wood cabinets painted white. Alex looked right at home crouched on the terra cotta floor, where he spun the bottle cap for Corky, his laughter low and masculine when Corky overshot it or fell over on half his tries.
Finally exhausted, Corky plopped down on his tummy and fell asleep.
Alex rose with his lips quirked sexily. "I hate to break this to you, Zoe, but I think your cat is a klutz."
Zoe scooped up the kitten protectively, delighted to find him purring beneath her chin. "He's not a klutz, he's just little."
He was also a good excuse to pull herself together away from Alex's too-familiar grins. Back when they'd dated, those lazy, wolfish smiles had been her undoing. Trying to shake off the old effect, she settled the kitten back in his cardboard box, while Alex and Bryan spread their not-so-gourmet meal across the booth-style table in her breakfast nook.
When she returned, three meat-laden pizzas fought for space with a dozen Mexican beers. The men had taken one bench and left the other for her. Even without the food, they filled up her kitchen in a way women never could. Both Alex and Bryan were six-footers, broad-shouldered and muscular. Polite enough to wait until she was back, they fell on the food like they were starving, though Alex managed to relate the story of why they were in Fairyville between slices.
By that point, the men had decimated a pizza each and were beginning to pick at hers. The amount of food males could consume always amazed her, which was probably a sign she didn't spend enough time with them.
If she had, she might not have been so backward about relationships.
Grimacing to herself, she tipped another swallow of Dos Equis into her mouth. She sat crosswise on her bench, her back to the wall and her bare feet up on the cushion. She was trying to make sense of what she'd been told, and of this new responsible business person Alex seemed to have grown into.
His partner, Bryan, had only spoken up a few times, but he struck her—ironically enough—as a likeable guy's guy, more at home at a baseball game than an art museum. He certainly had enough testosterone to make her girly hormones come to attention, in spite of them having little chance of being gratified by him. His five o'clock shadow was a heavy, blue-black demarcation on his handsomely thuggish face. He had great eyes, dark and snapping, with lashes so straight and long she couldn't help imagining all the places they might flutter over Alex's anatomy.
Or her own, for that matter.
She cleared her throat of its inappropriate tightening and set down her beer. If she was starting to fantasize about both of them, she'd had enough alcohol. "You say this little boy made paper fly?"
"He made it dance a conga line around our office," Alex confirmed.