It was supposed to be a joke.

Well, not a joke. Something innocent.

I do this all the time—for other people, not for me—so I know I'm good. Spells aren't meant to be easy, but I have practice. If anything, knowing I'll get paid to find someone love using magic is a good enough incentive; they'll be happy, and I get to pay my bills. Win-win.

Do it once, do it twice, the rush of dopamine fills you up with sunshine and starlight.

Do it enough times, and it's bleaker. It gets repetitive. It becomes boring. Worst of all, it highlights how easy it is for people to find love with my help, and how I can't help myself.

I like what I do. It helps that the pay is decent. I just don't like how lonely it makes me feel in comparison to all the happy couples.

So, when I perform a ritual I've done countless times, know all the words and gestures to, and could probably do it in my sleep, I'm not expecting to doze off. When you're surrounded by candles in a dark room, it's easy to feel sleepy. Most times, I can overpower it. I'm Jenn-fucking-Lovett. I'm better than that.

This is not one of those times.

I straighten with a jerk, and all the candles are blown out by an invisible force. All my windows are closed, yet there's a small tornado wrecking everything in its way around me. Sheets of paper fly around, books fall off my bookshelves, and I'm knocked back like I've just been slapped across the face.

I was falling forward. I was slurring my words. This is dangerous; every spell needs to be treated with respect, making sure everything is properly enunciated. A lot of words sound similar—some of them have the same spelling—and one wrong word can completely change the outcome of a spell.

Case in point: a column of smoke erupts in the center of my summoning circle.

A humanoid figure stands in front of me. Wearing an expensive suit, at that; it looks offensively out of place in my cramped apartment. There's barely any room for me and my belongings.

"You called?" the figure questions.

Once the smoke settles, I get a good glimpse of their features—it's definitely the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen, with their chiseled jaw, short stubble, and lean physique. The glowing red eyes are distracting, but my ovaries don't care. They should.

"I did not," I retort.

"Pretty sure you did." He steps forward, wiping dust off his shoulders. "I don't come unless I'm summoned."

"Well, I didn't summon you. I don't summon demons."

He huffs, hands on his hips. "And yet, here I am." He picks me up by the armpits like I weigh nothing. Now that I'm standing, the height difference between us is even more obvious. He has to be at least six-three. The sheer nerve. "You're smaller than I expected."

"I'm sorry I don't meet the expectations of some random demon. Can you please go back to hell? I have a spell to fix. My rent is due in two days."

"I can't leave until I fulfill my duty."

"I don't care. I didn't ask for you to be here."

"You summoned me."

"I did no such thing!" He brushes past me and picks up the grimoire I dropped when I nearly fell asleep mid ritual. His lips move as he reads. "You can't touch that."

"Yeah, you messed up. I get why you would; it's a one-word difference. Since I'm here, you might as well take advantage of it. Use me." My eyes narrow. I don't have time for this. "Go on. I know enough of you to know what you desire."

"I desire to pay my rent."

"No, no. You want . . . an epic love. Fiery. All-consuming. You're in luck." He grins. "That's a service I'm willing to provide."

────────────

This quickly turns out to be a problem.

No matter what I do or say, Jack—it's not his real name; he can't reveal it to me because he knows I'll banish him as soon as I figure it out—won't leave, dead-set on 'fulfilling my deepest desire'. He believes I'm meant to find love, the same love I help everyone else with.

Everyone wants to be loved. Even if not romantically. It's about being cared for and feeling like you belong. And me . . . well, I'm on my own. No coven. I'm lonely. I hate coming home to a cold bed.

That doesn't mean I want to find love with a demon. Not even a criminally attractive one like Jack.

He lingers. He even cleans my apartment, so I don't have to power through a crippling dust allergy. He reminds me I could be stuck with someone a lot worse; he can't harm me directly thanks to this so-called 'magical bond' we share because of his summoning, but he could make life a lot harder if he so wished.

"And I'm supposed to feel thankful that you're not an asshole?" I ask.

"Yes. Taste this." He reaches out a wooden spoon towards me so I can taste his homemade marinara. I scowl. "It's not poisoned, Jennifer. Just taste it. I think it lacks flavor. Like everything else in your life."

"Hilarious." I tentatively lean forward and chomp down on the spoon. "Could use more salt."

"See? Left to your own devices, you'd be eating tasteless food."

"Left to my own devices, I'd be working overtime to send you back to hell. Don't push me."

He fake shudders, flashing me a devilish grin. "I love it when you get all feisty. Gets my blood pumping."

"I will hex you out of existence."

"With your track record?" He scoffs, shaking his head. A dark lock of hair falls in front of his eyes. "I'd be more concerned if you were trying to do something nice for me."

────────────

Jack's not all that bad, I soon discover.

He can cook marginally better than I, even though I don't want to think about how and why a demon would learn how to cook. For someone who's a disaster in the kitchen and can't afford to rely on takeout, this is a godsend. Yes, I'm aware of the irony.

He helps me clean. He even saves me from mundane threats, like cockroaches and rats (in New York City), and is always lurking around the corner with an umbrella during unexpected rainpours. He'll remind me to bring a coat in case I get cold. He pulls me back when I accidentally step too close to the subway tracks.

I have a roommate now. He doesn't sleep, so there's no need for an extra bed, and he goes where I go. When I can't bring him along to work, he stays behind and either cleans up the apartment or waits until I get off work, holding a pizza box or a latte.

I don't know why he knows my drink order. I've never mentioned it to him.

"You have some foam on your lip," he points out. It's October now, colder, and I've fully switched to warm lattes now. Before I can wipe the foam from my upper lip myself, he swipes his thumb across my mouth and licks it. "There."

"Thanks for the save."

"Jennifer, darling." Jack sighs, fixing my scarf around my neck. A shiver runs down my spine; for the sake of my sanity, I decide to blame the weather. "What would you do without me? Clumsy girl."

"Don't flirt with me. I'm still looking for a way to banish you."

A corner of his mouth twitches. I'm unsure whether he's amused or angry. "I'd rather if you didn't. I really am just looking out for you. I'm here to—"

"—fulfill my deepest desire. I know. And I've told you I'm fine on my own."

"You're lonely."

"I'm alone. I'm not lonely."

"You are. I see it in your eyes when you look at couples. When you see friends hanging out. When you hear stories about covens. You want to be loved. You're just scared of admitting it."

I clench my jaw. "I'd be doing the right thing. This isn't your world."

"The right thing for whom? Do you really want me gone?" He leans forward. His breath fans my skin. "I could leave if you really wanted. I'll sever this connection, and you won't remember me at all. But you already knew that's a possibility, didn't you? You don't want me to leave."

"Don't read too much into it." He hit the spot. Hook, line, and sinker. "If you're leaving, it's because I'll do it myself."

"You couldn't do it on your own. You'd need someone to help you. Sever the bond between us, and I'm gone. That's your prerogative. But it's a two-people job, and you'd have to explain the whole thing."

"And the other witches would understand. I can't . . . I can't do this." I step back. His hand is holding mine, his thumb drawing circles on the back. "You're . . . you're a demon, Jack. I can't even call you by your real name."

"You could, if I trusted you not to use it against me."

"If you don't trust me, then why are you still here? Why do you want this so badly?"

"Not just this." His eyes darken. Heat spreads down my chest, pooling in my stomach. "I want you. Scared, and all."

────────────

"How's your demon problem?" Megan asks me.

It's December now. The city is coated in a thick layer of snow, and I see people even less frequently now; Megan lives across the hall and runs the apothecary next door, so she's the person I see the most.

Besides Jack.

But he's not a person.

"I'm working on it," I reply, stirring my love potion one last time. I wave my fingers over the cauldron, muttering an enchantment, and the potion goes from an unimpressive gray color to glittery pink. "I've got it."

"I can help you banish him. Even if you don't know his real name. We're powerful enough to do it."

I could say yes. Ideally, I should accept the offer.

But I don't. I can't.

Person or not, Jack has made me feel . . . important. He keeps me anchored. Between making me dinner and taking me out for a coffee and a sweet treat, he's been great company. When it's just the two of us in my apartment, me working, him perusing my shelves for a romance book he hasn't devoured yet, I've found we've settled into a comfortable routine.

Does it help that he's hot as hell? Yes.

Am I in trouble? Yes.

"Jenn," Megan insists. "You have to be careful here. He might be charming, he might be hot and nice, but he's still a demon. He says he's bound to you, but it could be a lie. A manipulation tactic."

"I know. I can handle Jack."

She presses her lips together. Doesn't insist.

────────────

It's Valentine's Day. I'm single.

Jack is in my kitchen, baking heart-shaped cookies. He's wearing my pink apron.

"I'm going to summon you again," I announce. He startles, nearly dropping the tray, but catches his balance. "I'll send you to hell, but I'll bring you back. And we'll do it right."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because"—I take in a sharp breath—"I'm out of my mind and can't trust my judgment, so I'm going to follow my heart. And my heart wants fire. My heart wants to be swept off its feet. And you're a demon who's baking cookies because you didn't want me to be alone and sad on Valentine's Day." I reach out a hand towards him. "Trust me."

"I'll trust you. And you'll trust me."

"Hell, yes."

Jack shoots me a mischievous grin, then he whispers in my ear.

────────────

I send him away. He goes willingly, so I don't need help.

I bring him back.

He comes back naked. Hot as hell, indeed.

────────────