Happy Book Birthday to Deborah Wilde’s The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Sting (@wildeauthor, @RoxanneRhoads)

               Rohan’s arm shot out to the wall, blocking me. The two of us faced in different directions. How apt.
               “Move,” I said
               He didn’t budge.
               I stared resolutely ahead.
               Finally he dropped his arm.
               I pulled my keycard from my coat, walking directly to my room. No passing go. No collecting $200.
               “Don’t leave.” He spoke quietly but in the silence of the corridor, I had no trouble hearing him.
               My hands balled up. Hadn’t it been enough for one night? That thread between us that had felt so comforting earlier threatened to strangle me now. Anger fueled my turn. I would have welcomed a corresponding anger in him, but the naked longing on his face and the defeat in the slope of his shoulders undid me. That and his sincere, “I love watching you dance.”
               The hallway was empty but it suddenly felt hard to breathe.
               He held out a hand.
               I leaned back. The magnetic push/pull between us demanded a certain distance, a certain resistance, as much as attraction. Wrung out on every level, I couldn’t afford to let Mr. Force-of-Nature Mitra take advantage of my weakened boundaries to redefine our hook-ups into whatever vision he had of them.
               The air conditioning kicked in and I wrapped my arms around myself.
               “When you see my shower, you’ll thank me.” He scrunched up his face, a lock of hair falling boyishly over his eyes. “Nothing happens. Just sleep.”
               I wasn’t sure if that sweetened the offer or not, but I nodded.