Page 12 of Our Covenant

Elsbeth takes a long sip then holds it up to admire the legs on the inside of the glass.

“Are you a wine guy?” she asks before taking another drink.

“Admittedly, no. But I can appreciate a good one.”

“Is this a good one?”

She tilts her head and watches me as if she knows that is a diplomatic answer. I can’t help but laugh.

“In price, yes.” I circle the rim of my glass with my finger. “But in taste . . . not for me.”

She nods, bringing the rim to her lips again with a pause, like she’s surveying me before finishing the small portion.

“Do you like it?” My need for her approval comes from an unknown place, but the small pull of her lips says she’s pleased by the concern.

“I don’t know much about wine. But I know that you picked it for a reason and the effort and forethought is more impactful than the bottle.”

Fuck. That sort of validation will bring me to my knees. And I’m quite good on my knees. If she keeps stroking my ego, maybe we’ll find out how good.

“You’re giving me too much credit.” I bring my glass up to my lips again, this time taking a large gulp to finish it off.

Her nose wrinkles. “Well, the bar is in Hell. Any man who takes a break from thinking of only himself for five minutes is a catch.”

Elsbeth doesn’t strike me as a woman who would ever allow an unworthy man anywhere close to her, but then again, the competition is slim. Every guy on campus is more interested in getting laid and their next career opportunity than being a decent man. Being raised in a coven lead by our matriarchy helped stave off the influence of the “red-pill bros” and “incel alpha males,” but even the men of the coven have fallen victim to the egos pushed on them by the outside world. Clayton Elwell comes to mind and I quickly change the subject to not burst the illusion of freedom for the night.

“Fall break is around the corner. Do you have any plans?” It’s a safe topic. Most of my classmates will be spending next week on a hot, sandy beach somewhere to escape the late fall chill that’s aggressively gripping Boston. “I’m looking forward to the gym being empty.”

I pick up the wine bottle and fill her glass to the point that the sommelier would surely scold me. I check over my shoulder to see that she’s still distracted across the room, so I take full advantage, splashing a bit more in.

Elsbeth giggles at me but takes a large gulp of the replenished wine, bringing it to a more appropriate level.

“My family isn’t expecting me to visit,” she answers, flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaning her arms on the edge of the table. “I’ll have my usual call with my mother on Sunday, but for once, I’ll have the entire apartment to myself for the week.”

“Won’t you be lonely?”

I can’t decipher the emotion on her face, but she reaches up and holds the locket at her throat between her fingers and strokes the etching on the backside with the pad of her thumb. She picks up the small menu from her plate. The prefixed options keep her attention for a bit longer than necessary before she answers with what sounds like a rehearsed statement. “I’ve never been bored in my own company.”

“I can’t imagine anyone has.” I tilt my head, and she comes back to me, a smile brightening her face once again.

The offer to entertain her in any capacity she’d allow sits heavy on my tongue, but I refrain from sounding like a desperate loser with no friends or plans. Though, lounging in bed with Elsbeth while I recover from transferring magic throughout the coven sounds like the perfect way to spend the break.

“You’ve barely spent time with me. How do you know I’m not a huge bore?” Her coy flirtation rouses my hope.

“I am an excellent judge of character, and you are more fascinating to me than you could know.”

Her cheeks redden and she smiles. A full smile that I suspect she couldn’t hold back.

“You’re such a smooth talker outside of the gym.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have gym game?” I tease, both of us finding the ease we typically have during daylight hours.

“As if getting a date while you’re half naked looking the way you do requires any sort of charisma, least of all for the Hawthorne Bishop. You should see the stares I get when I’m spotting you.” She giggles again, and the challenge to keep from making a fool out of myself returns.

“I’ve never noticed. I don’t see anyone else when you’re around.”

Her mouth opens, amusement and flattery making her light up again. That triumph is short-lived because the waiter appears at the side of our table, ready to take our order.

A bottle of wine, cocktails, appetizers, and dinner later, the conversation has eased into dessert.