He pulls up to a four-car garage, and the frosted-glass door begins to open. There are other cars parked inside, but it’s impossible to tell if they belong to Rogan or someone else.
“Your house is beautiful,” I declare, still looking around at the details as though I don’t know which stunning thing to really focus on first. “Is it just you in this massive place?” I inquire, not at all smoothly.
“Thank you,” he replies as he pulls his sleek car into its spot. He looks over at me curiously as he puts it in park. “And yes, it’s just me out here,” he supplies.
Relief slams through me, and I take a second to side-eye that. Why do I care?
“Do you get lonely in a huge place like this?” I ask, and the rude question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Sometimes,” he answers evenly, his eyes studying me intensely.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I asked that. I get lonely in my little ass apartment all the time. Size doesn’t matter,” I blurt and then immediately want to facepalm again.
“Good to know,” Rogan states, a small smile twitching at the edges of his mouth.
“Not like that, pervert,” I accuse.
“Like what?” he asks with faux innocence.
“I’m not talking about your dick.”
“I...didn’t think you were,” he defends.
“Because size is important; it’s not everything,” I correct in case he has a little dick and I’m insulting him. “But it’s important,” I finish, and I can feel the blush creeping into my cheeks.
Do not look at his lap, Lennox.
“Again, good to know where you stand on dick size.”
“But I’m not talking about your dick,” I hurriedly state.
“Got it,” he chirps, and I can see the mirth gleaming in his eyes.
“Well, now that I’ve made this awkward, I’m just going to get out of the car and stand around until you tell me where to go,” I announce, and then I do just that.
Rogan’s rich chuckle echoes off the walls of the garage as he climbs out of the car and moves to retrieve a still sleeping Hoot from the back. I grab my duffel bag and then shuffle behind him as he leads the way into his house.
He flips on lights as he goes, and unsurprisingly the inside of his house is just as stunning as the outside is. The floors are a light-blond wood, the banisters are black metal, and the walls are stark and white. The furniture is minimal, but what’s there is cozy and inviting. I can only catch hints of dark trees through the massive walls of windows all around me, but I imagine the view in the morning will be mind-blowing.
“Are you hungry or anything?” Rogan asks, gesturing in the direction of a dimly lit kitchen.
“Maybe later, but I have a lot of reading to do, and I’d kill for a shower,” I declare, and he nods and guides me toward the stairs. He puts Hoot down on a blanket on his sofa, and the little bugger doesn’t even stir. If it weren’t for the constant snoring reverberating out of him indicating that he’s alive and well, I might be concerned over what that ley line did to him.
I follow Rogan up his floating staircase, looking everywhere but at his ass in his nicely fitting jeans. Nope, definitely not interested in that.
“You can stay here, there’s an attached bathroom and a balcony that leads down to the main level if you like morning walks or whatever.”
I chuckle a little and step into the room Rogan is gesturing toward. He flips the light on, and I’m met with a huge bed, simple but masculine decor, and another wall of windows. It looks comfy enough, but I never sleep well in unfamiliar places. Good thing I have a magic cram session planned.
“My room is down the hall, so if you need anything…” He pauses for a moment as though he wants to say something else, but instead of voicing whatever is on the tip of his tongue, he steps out of the room and closes the door behind him.
With a sigh, I drop my duffel on the trim wood bench at the foot of the bed and thread my hands through my curls as I look around. It’s hard to imagine that I’ve only been a witch for like a day. So much has happened, and I don’t even know how to start processing it all.
I dig my phone out of my bag and head into the bathroom. It takes me a minute to figure out how to turn the water on in the shower, and I do a little celebratory dance when I finally figure it out. Steam starts to fill the room, and I quickly strip out of my clothes and then open my phone. I open my contacts and click the call button; it’s probably too late to call, but I did say I would when I got here.
“Leonardo DiCaprio, long time no talk!” Tad answers excitedly.
“You’re up,” I greet back, half surprised and half happy that he answered.
“Well, yeah. I couldn’t go to bed without making sure you were okay.”
I chuckle, click the speaker button, set the phone on the counter, and then step into the hot spray of the shower. “Oh please. Who are you really waiting up for?”
“Pierre,” he admits without missing a beat. “He’s supposed to call me when he gets off work, we have big sexting plans.”
“TMI, dude, way too much TMI.”
“What are you up to? Did you get where you were going safe and sound?” he asks.
“I’m taking a quick shower, and yep, I’m in Blackbriar, Tennessee, or at least I think I am, I never really confirmed that, now that I think of it.”
“Are you showering alone?”
I snort incredulously. “Of course I am, why the hell would I call you if I was with someone?”
“I don’t know, because you’re a fucking weirdo? I don’t question these things about you, Lennon.”
I shake my head and pour shampoo into my hands. It smells very manly. “How are you doing? Still feeling okay?” I ask him, a pang of worry settling in my stomach as I start to wash my hair.
“Yeah, I’m good. I ate like the biggest steak ever when I got home and then went back for seconds three times, but other than being bloated, I’m right as rain.”
“Is your mom ever going to let you near me again?” I ask, trying to be funny, but it falls flat.
“I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s never going to let me out of her sight again, so as long as you’re cool with her tagging along to the bars and shit, we should be good,” he teases, and I smile, feeling a little lighter.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse, I tried to go out tonight, just to make sure my gaydar is fully operational, and the woman almost had a conniption. She practically turned purple with outrage. I tried to take a picture, but she attacked too fast. Hey, speaking of pictures, Ma wants to know if you want a calendar, coasters, or just a hoodie of Magda and Gwen getting their comeuppance?”
I crack up. Just the image of Tad trying to take a picture of a pissed off Aunt Hillen and then her finding all the swag to put Magda’s picture on is enough to chase my worries away.
“Probably just some coasters, oh and maybe a fridge magnet or, like, a keychain if she can find them,” I tell him through a fit of giggles. “Any word about Magda?”
“Only that she was going into surgery, and the rest of the family is dead to her. Pretty sure there was something about her not having earthquake coverage and expensive repairs too, but Ma stopped listening to the voicemail about a minute in, and I have no idea what any of that means. Magda’s probably drugged out of her gourd.”