Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Lonnie had never cared about that. His collection was meant to be enjoyed the way he liked, and he liked all the collectibles outside of their boxes and displayed with their various parts. Dust was the only real problem. He did keep the boxes—had them all contained in bigger boxes in his attic, though there was a pile in the guest room’s closet he would eventually move to the attic. Most of his piles eventually made their way into better spots. Though that was normally other piles.
His bedroom had also bothered Richard, who’d been a neat freak deluxe. Another of his quirks that Lonnie had just accepted. When he had stayed over at Richard’s, he’d always made sure to keep his clothes neat and wash up any dishes he used right away.
“You have no more questions?” Callan asked, breaking into his memories.
“Sorry. I was thinking about Richard and how badly we clashed. I do have more, but I should get back to grading and let you get back to the show. You seem to be enjoying it.”
Callan gave an enthusiastic nod. “I like it very much. Would like to see more of these cartoons you love so much.”
“Oh, good! It’ll be so fun to share my favorites with you. Watch them again through new eyes. There’s an entire wonderful world of them I plan to introduce you to.”
Chapter Seven
Callan
A handful of days passed. This morning, Callan once again sat at the back of Lonnie’s classroom, trying hard to ignore all the thoughts bombarding his head.
Wonder if Brad is ever going to ask me out?
I’m so fucking invisible. If I ran naked through the school, would anyone even notice?
Professor Russell is kinda hot.
That last one made Callan glare into the room, not sure who it came from. At least that one was kind of paying attention to the teacher.
Callan closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. After so many years dealing with this part of his magic, he had tricks he’d learned to shut out the voices. He pictured his home, where his father still lived in Massachusetts. The peaceful woods around the four-bedroom Cape Cod house. Then he pulled up a memory of catching frogs with his brothers in the creek that ran behind their house, remembering how Nathaniel had fallen in, gotten pissed, then pulled the rest of them into the water until they were all streaked with mud. He pictured their mother coming to find them and laughing when she saw the state they were in. She’d ushered them all home and poured buckets of water over them in the back yard. Back then, it hadn’t been the Cape Cod house, though, but a small cabin his father had built. It had been warm and cozy and always filled with the smell of baking bread. His father had built a big brick oven that took up half the front room.
Callan still missed his mother. She’d loved her half-demon sons, showing them off with a fierce pride, though she was always careful to make sure they’d donned their glamours before taking them into the small village that had been a long walk from their land. Unlike Lonnie, she hadn’t been able to see through glamours, though she’d loved her sons in both guises equally. And she’d loved her husband, always smiling at his gruff exterior and working to bring out his rare smiles. He’d grown so remote in the years since her death. Callan should visit. It had been over eight months since he’d made a flight home.
His memories had worked, quieting his mind, so he opened his eyes and his senses. The notes indicated that Lonnie’s stalker was sometimes in these classes, so he worked to focus on one voice at a time. Then he got distracted by Lonnie himself.
The human really was hot, no kinda about it. He liked to walk around the room as he spoke, his voice soothing, velvety. He pointed often to the large screen in the front of the room, today’s image something about the hero’s journey. Yesterday, the lecture had involved saving cats for some reason.
Callan liked to hear Lonnie speak. And he very much liked looking at him. At his short, supple body and that silky hair he kept pulled back in his usual knot. Those wide lips were on the thinner side, but so kissable.
Lonnie fiddled with his glasses, pushing them up on that cute little nose, his gaze flicking to Callan every so often. Callan still wondered why he couldn’t hear Lonnie’s thoughts, though he was more than grateful for it. It was soothing to be around him, and the mystery of not knowing his thoughts intrigued Callan. At night, they’d been watching more shows while Lonnie graded—he always had grading to do. His job was definitely not any kind of nine to five. But he seemed to enjoy it, often smiling over something he was reading. Though there were frowns, too, and often frustration in the form of sighs and his shaking head. Occasionally, he murmured about students needing grammar classes.