“Fake dating,” I corrected. “Clearly it’s fake, because he turned tail and ran the second I realised I was feeling more for him.” I sighed. “And while you not believing me was absolutely on my mind, I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. I mean, what if he decides that you’re the next soul he’s going to go after? I didn’t want to put you on his radar in any way.”

Ezra’s clay collapsed into a sodden heap. “What am I doing wrong?” he demanded, poking at the mess. I turned back to the little angel wings I was midway through crocheting.

“Your clay’s too wet,” Humphrey’s amused voice said from behind us. “Here, let’s start again with another piece.” He scooped up the sodden clay and replaced it with a fresh, firm lump.

Humphrey pulled up a chair behind Ezra, settling his legs around my bestie. Together they worked the clay, shaping it and reshaping it until it slowly began to resemble something that could (if you squinted) be called a vase.

I had to look away then, because my eyes stung, and I didn’t want Ezra to feel like he needed to stop enjoying his little Ghost moment with his Hottie Potter just because I was moping that the bloody Devil didn’t want to shag me, because I was getting too attached.

Why did I have to be so easy to read? Why did I have to realise I had feelings at the worst possible time? He said he hadn’t been finished ‘playing’ with me? What did that mean? What kind of things did the Devil like to play in the bedroom?

I mean, I’d read enough smut to know what I’d like him to do … but I really wanted the reality.

I damn well wanted him. There was no getting past it. And knowing my luck, I’d fail his next task for me, he’d make off with my eternal soul and leave me pining until I died, hoping that when my soul went to Hell, I could hang out with him some more …

* * *

“What’s got you looking so maudlin, Pinkie Pie?” Humphrey asked as the last of his students filed out of the studio. “Don’t tell me … you had a falling out with Big Blondie?”

I shrugged, not trusting my voice. I could feel Ezra watching me.

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t resolve with a little brainstorming … I mean, I saw the way he looked at you on Friday night at the markets and the way he took every opportunity to touch you—that man is besotted!”

“It’s not that simple,” I mumbled. Ezra cleared his throat, and I glanced up. He was tilting his head frantically in Humphrey’s direction, making that hand gesture where you open and close your fingers to look like a yapping mouth.