J.M. Blackman’s Picture Choice: Both
Title: I Put a Spell On You (And Now You’re Mine)
“A little obsessive, don’t you think?” That was how Ryan greeted the haunting girl.
And as flippantly as he said it, he was serious. The words she was writing on her hand were a red light to any guy who thought to hit on her. She already had an intense look about her—wild hair, dark lipstick, pale skin. But the dedicated doodling on her skin was a clear sign of a clingy girl.
He still spoke to her.
After all, he would just be extra clear about where their relationship would go: to his bed. He already couldn’t stop fantasizing about seeing the fair expanse of her bare shoulders, unmolested by the tank top she wore now.
He sat beside her and she glanced up briefly. “Yep,” she said.
“It is obsessive. Might want to steer clear.”
He laughed because he didn’t think she was joking. But he didn’t mind it. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird to admit to being obsessive?”
“Sure, but don’t you want me to be honest?”
He laughed again. “Yeah, definitely. So, if we’re being honest, then I should tell you I haven’t come over here with pure intentions.”
His eyebrow raced up his forehead. “You do?” She nodded. “And you don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
“Because I’m only interested in those impure intentions,” he said dark. “Nothing else.” He knew girls like it when he lowered his voice like that.
She glanced at him then, between bangs. “But I want more.”
“That’s not what I’m interested in,” he pressed, thinking he was getting somewhere.
“I understand that.”
“So, this is good-bye then?” At least the pursuit had been quick and painless, he thought.
“No, I don’t want you to leave.”
His heart began to race. Would it be that easy? “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. It’s OK that you’re not interested in more.” She finished one more word on her hand, then capped the pen by sticking its top in her mouth and jabbing the pen home. She did it quickly. It was such a familiar move, thoughtless.
Ryan thought it odd. No matter how many times he could practice, he was sure that he would never be able to cap a pen with his mouth so quickly without stabbing himself.
“It’s OK,” she continued gently, holding her hand out for inspection. “Because you’ll give me everything I want, regardless of what you think now.”
Now, he started guffawing. Even if he didn’t get anywhere with her, he would get a great story out of it. “Yeah? And how are you going to make me do that?”
“With a spell,” she smiled, placing her hand on his knee. Her hand was hot. It felt great. No, it felt fucking fantastic. Amazing.
No, no—it was too much overwhelming. He looked into her eyes and their blackness matched her lipstick. He wanted to ask her what was going on, but he couldn’t talk.
“Now, do you understand?” she asked, releasing his knee.
No, he didn’t. Not at all. But it didn’t matter. Because he would do anything for her. He loved her. He needed her. He would never think of another woman again. He would never think of anything ever again.
He was obsessed.
J.M. Blackman is a Language Arts teacher, author rep'd by Gina Panettieri and a feminist. She endeavors to review nearly everything she reads and is a happy wife. She's a SFF enthusiast, loves dark humor, and has an unhealthy need to protect the image of Batman.