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This man enjoys playing with fire.
“Asher,” I scold him. “We’re supposed to be presenting Professor North the cake,” I remind him.
“Ah. Right!” He turns his attention to me, the two of us sharing a look that’s hard to peel away from.
A year had changed my jock of an ex-boyfriend.
Didn’t think he could get hotter… or dumber, but here we are.
“My bad, Cruella.” He gives me a wink.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Yes, yes,” he replies with the biggest grin.
He’s the happiest I’m sure he’s been. He always looks like he’s on cloud nine with me, which is weird when I’m deemed “boring and filled with nothing but misery” by everyone else who has ever seen us in the same room together.
Looking directly in Professor North’s direction, I dare to give him a smile.
“Happy Birthday, Professor North.”
All he can do is stare back at me, looking captivated by my warm expression.
“And he malfunctions,” Professor Blackbird mutters more to himself before he claps his hand. “Thank you so much, Miss Guinevere and Mr. Heathcliff, for helping with the surprise. I’m sure Headmaster Atlas will be thrilled to know you both volunteered to assist us with surprising one of N.M.U.’s favorite professors,” he proudly announces. “Why don’t we leave the library so Professor North can enjoy his cake?”
“He has to take a picture with it,” I voice and walk over to him until I’m in front of him with the presented cake. “Here you go, Professor North.”
He takes the cake almost like a robot fulfilling orders, but the mention of the picture seems to click in his mind.
“I don’t like pictures.”
“Are you a vampire?” I ask with a straight face.
“No.”
“Then you’ll survive,” I conclude.
“Why would he die if she took a picture of him as a vampire?” Asher ponders, grabbing our attention to him. He looks genuinely curious.
“He wouldn’t die,” I voice. “It’s just my sense of humor.”
“Hmm, I have to work on that,” he concludes. “How are you going to take the photo without a phone, Cruella?”
“Ophelia,” I correct him, but he’s right. “Um…”
“I got it,” Professor Blackbird volunteers.
“I don’t need one,” Professor North argues.
“What if it’s with Miss Guinevere? She did take the time to help make the cake when she should have been resting after her trial?” Professor Blackbird points out.
As if I didn’t snap my fingers and make a cake out of my vivid imagination.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Asher agrees.
“No,” Professor North and I say in unison. We’re staring at one another the next moment—his gaze of scrutiny meeting my gaze of boredom.
Two peas in a pod.
