Desperate Housewives of Olympus & Desperate Housewives of Avalon & Desperate Housewives of Olympus: Ares by Saranna DeWylde

Author:Saranna DeWylde
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Corvus Corax
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

MORGAN

She was determined not to be that creepy chick that perched over a man and watched him sleep.

But it took every ounce of her formidable will. Morgan rarely had such a chance to study him at her leisure, but she reminded herself if she woke up and found someone she’d declared untrustworthy staring at her while she slept, she’d smite them with the dirtiest, nastiest curse she could fathom.

Just to be on the safe side.

Of course, the same rules didn’t apply because Morgan knew better than to trust anyone.

So instead of eye-humping Lance, she curled up on the sofa in the TV room to catch up on Game of Thrones. She’d started watching because the actor that played Jaime Lannister looked a little bit like Lance. The hair, for sure, the jaw if she squinted. She’d kept watching though because she couldn’t stop. It was crack.

She loved that the good guys didn’t always win.

Morgan had a whole season to watch, so she was sure that would keep her out of trouble. At least until Lance slept off his Johnny Walker induced coma and left.

She managed to get lost in the intrigue until Lance wandered out from the bedroom and peered into the TV room. He seemed a little lost, so she waved him inside.

“Come on in. I’m just catching up on some brain candy.”

He sat down on the couch next to her, his weight depressing the overstuffed leather cushion. “I love this show.”

“Watch it with me then, if you don’t mind waiting for me to catch up.”

“I’ve seen this episode, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

She snapped her fingers and two tall, frosty glasses of rich, dark beer appeared along with an array of hot wings, loaded potato skins, and mozzarella sticks. He accepted the beer and a plate with a smile and they watched in silence.

Morgan couldn’t pay attention to a damn thing that happened on the screen. She was sitting next to Lancelot du Lac watching television. It was as banal a thing as could happen and yet, every cell in her body was singing the Hallelujah Chorus in Latin. His leg brushed up against hers and the warmth of him though his jeans seared her.

The best part was, he didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to be afraid that he was going to get infected with witch cooties.

Of course, it was pure hell, too. Morgan spent years dreaming of what she would do if she ever got him alone.

Absolutely nothing was what she’d do. All she could do was sit there and cream in her knickers because the man’s leg rubbed up against her. How pathetic was that? She swallowed and reached for her beer, her elbow brushed his arm and more frissions of awareness shot through her like little sparks.

So pathetic.

She dreaded the end of the episode. That would leave moments she’d have to fill with something.

He took the matter out of her hands when he spoke. “So did I really pass out in my chili cheese fries?”

“You did.

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