The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,52

it. Technically, because she never asked me to delete the files, it’s legal for me to have. Even after our divorce, I helped her with her paperwork. She wasn’t exactly a bad woman.”

“She just not stay loyal.”

“Right.”

“You ruined me for other men. Tragedy.” I shook off and stretched. “Go change now. Then coffee. Then we run away in rented SUV. No more assholes try to light things on fire?”

“We have a pair of cops parked in our driveway to discourage anyone from trying anything stupid. Oh, that reminds me. I saw Valorie flirting with the cops. In our driveway.”

“Do we have older, single hot cops?”

“Bailey, we’re not playing matchmaker for our neighbor.”

“Why not? Else your uncle may get her.”

“Maybe we’ll play matchmaker for our neighbor, although it depends which devil he has in mind for her.”

“I worry for world. We may destroy it. Bring ruin.”

“Or marry everyone we know to demons or devils.” Laughing, Quinn kissed my nose. “Go get changed, lawbreaker.”

“I such bad cop.”

“You’ll learn. Just try to keep your general lawbreaking ways somewhat contained for a change.”

“Break a few laws once…” I muttered while my husband laughed.

Reversing back to human took a lot out of me, and if Quinn wanted me going anywhere, I’d need a lot of coffee. Some days, I regretted not having a coffee maker capable of brewing my dark brew a pot at a time. It took me almost half an hour to fill the new Thermos and both of our travel mugs with coffee, and as I was not a complete monster, giving the cops outside their fair share, too. I even gave them a light dose of pixie dust to make their night a little happier.

“House sitting isn’t precisely prestigious, but it’s not so bad you need to dose the cops with pixie dust, Bailey.”

“It’s cold, so it is that bad.”

“You realize we’re going north, right?”

I heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately. I might freeze to death. What will I do if I freeze to death?”

“You’re not going to freeze to death. I did go over your winter clothing, and we’re going shopping specifically to make it so you don’t freeze to death. Get that pretty little ass on the move. I’ll take the coffee out to the cops, but it’s time to load up the SUV and leave.”

“You’re way too energetic.”

“It’s your fault. You’re just so good to me.”

“Keep talking, gorgon-incubus doohickey. That’s how you get dragged into a shower at a hotel.”

“Strangely, I figured that one out on my own.” Quinn took the older Thermos he’d stolen from some of his cops at work outside to the cops on duty so they could enjoy a warm drink while I cleaned my beautiful machine, polishing the stainless steel to a shine.

I hadn’t quite finished when he returned, and he wrapped his arm around my waist and dragged me out of the kitchen. “Hey, I wasn’t done!”

“Your baby will be fine without having every inch of it washed four times before we leave.” To make it clear it was time to go, he hauled me out of the house, took me to the SUV, and shoved me into the front passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt for me. “Stay, you.”

Pouting earned me a kiss. He gave me his phone to play with while I waited, and I opened my favorite puzzle game and went to work trying to beat a hell level determined to drive me insane.

In his typical, efficient way, within ten minutes, he had the SUV packed to his liking, and he’d brought everything I’d packed, plus his own contributions. “It’s a good thing your grandfather has the kids, as they would not fit right now,” I observed.

“They really wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be doing this, so I may have overpacked while you were napping. You were too peaceful to disturb.” Quinn gave me my new bag with my laptops, and he handed my new cindercorn purse to me, too. “Your guns and ammo are in the new purse.”

“They’re both new.”

“The one bag isn’t really a purse.”

“I am using it as a purse, so it is a purse.”

“Is that how purses are defined? If it is a bag you use as a purse, is it a purse?”

“Well, if designers would give us more pockets, we wouldn’t need purses, so they deliberately keep the pockets on pants small so we need purses. Your day comes, Quinn. One day, the manufacturers will realize men can use purses, and pockets will go extinct.”

“That’s

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