“You complained bitterly about your captivity, then settled for satisfying yourself with a vibrator and demanded with urgency that I watch.”

  “I did what?” I ask, every drop of my burning hot blood rushing to my cheeks so I turn traffic-stop red.

  I’ve got up to some drunk shenanigans in my time, but I’ve never begged a 72,000-year-old magical being to watch me masturbate.

  “And did you?” I groan, my stomach roiling as I wait for the answer.

  “I did not,” he says solemnly. “I contained you in your apartment because you could not consent. I had no intention of then taking advantage of you myself.”

  My stomach settles and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you for being a gentleman,” I huff as I continue my battle with this damn catsuit.

  “Do you require assistance?” he asks, his head twitching slightly to the side, so his long black ponytail swishes across his muscular back.

  “Nope, putting on a skin-tight catsuit is just peachy,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “That is sarcasm, isn’t it? Let me help you,” he says, and with a raise of his arm I float up from the bed, the catsuit slides easily up my body, and the mask flips over my head.

  I gently float back down onto my feet, and then Zeno spins around to face me.

  “What do you think?” I ask, but I already know the answer from the way his nostrils flare and he teethes his lower lip.

  “You look phenomenal,” he growls, and my body buzzes with excitement.

  “Thanks,” I stammer, the intensity behind his stare making me lightheaded. I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to get fired so I force myself to move. “I better go now. See you, Zeno.”

  “Goodbye, Whirlwind.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bethany

  The plan to go out wearing an outfit that included a mask had seemed reasonable when I was in my apartment with just a blue genie for life advice. Now that I’m out on the streets, it’s apparent that this is a very bad idea.

  If I try to look at this situation as a learning curve, I now know two things to be true.

  First, never take fashion advice from a blue man wearing nothing but a silk belt. Second, though a mask may prevent people from recognizing me, it doesn’t prevent the feeling of shame, and beneath the rubber, I am the color of a beetroot.

  Passing cars honk their horns at me and parents on the school run shield their children’s eyes as I totter along in my towering high heels dressed like something from a fetish porn film.

  If that wasn’t awkward enough, the material makes a loud creaking sound as I walk, so people ahead turn around to see what the noise is, then jump out of their skins when they see my latex-clad face.

  I dash into the first store I pass that sells normal clothes and grab a few pairs of jeans, some shirts, a couple of sweaters, and a pair of sneakers.

  I’m sure most people given three wishes would have chosen something that made them wealthier, but here I am punishing my poor credit card for my drunken mistake.

  “Is it ok to get changed in the fitting room before going back outside please?” I ask the girl behind the counter as she bags up my new clothes.

  “Of course,” she says, then winks at me and whispers. “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

  If only she knew the half of it.

  I head into the fitting room and peel myself out of the tight catsuit, panting from the exertion as though I’ve just run a marathon.

  It would have been so much easier if Zeno could have used his magic to undress me, and the idea of him taking my clothes off makes heat pool in my stomach.

  There’s something about the way he looks at me, and the way he teases me in that rich but formal voice of his that makes me flutter inside.

  Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he’s drop-dead gorgeous. The only issue is that he’s a genie, and I’m pretty sure that’s a red flag, or maybe a blue one.

  Whatever. No good can come from lusting after him, and I think I’ve made enough poor decisions during the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.

  I walk out of the store, feeling relieved that I can move my limbs properly again, and head into the coffee shop next door for a very necessary caffeine hit.

  A cute guy sitting in the corner eating a pastry while reading a book looks up at me and smiles.

  I smile back. Then he holds eye contact while putting his fingertips into his mouth and gives them a slow and sensual lick to moisten them before turning the page.

  I join the line at the counter, and when I glance back, his fingers are back in his mouth, and he’s sucking on them gently with his gaze fixed on me. His book is going to be soaked if he keeps going like that.

  “What can I get you?” drawls a deep voice, jolting my attention back to the counter where I see the barista dragging a hand back through his sandy blonde curls and looking me up and down with brooding eyes.

  “Iced coffee please,” I say, and he claps his hand over his heart dramatically and says, “My favorite order. I knew you’d have good taste.”

  “Um, thanks,” I say, searching his face for a suggestion that he’s joking, but there’s not a hint of amusement.

  “A girl as sweet as you deserves to have a little sugar in the morning,” he says, picking up a donut with a pair of tongs and putting it into a brown paper bag.

  “It’s got cream inside. Think about me when you’re eating it,” he says with a wink as he passes it over the counter.

  My eyes flare wide. Does he mean what I think he means? What the hell is going on? First the guy with the book, now the barista.

  Suddenly, it all clicks into place. My wish. How did I forget about my third wish?

  The barista fills a cup with iced coffee, then pulls a pen out of his apron and starts writing on the side.

  “This is my number,” he says, handing it over to me with a smile. “Give me a call, and I’ll fill you up with a different kind of cream.”

  I choke on air and the shock makes me squeeze the cup too hard, popping the lid open so my drink spills down my hand.

  “Let me help clean that up for you,” says the finger-licker, appearing out of nowhere and running his tongue up the side of my hand.

  I yelp, spilling more of my drink as I twist away from him and rush toward the door to escape.

  Once outside, I speed-walk along the street, keeping my head down when suddenly I hear a screech of wheels and look up to see a car pulling an emergency stop to avoid hitting a man who is running through the traffic.

  “Hey there,” he calls out to me, and I walk faster, pretending I haven’t seen him. He catches up to me in a few easy strides and taps my arm.

  “Yes,” I ask, my pulse racing as I prepare to karate kick him if he tries anything weird like sucking my toes.

  “I just wanted to ask if you have a map?” he says, and my chest relaxes.

  “No, sorry,” I say, feeling more than a little foolish for being so dramatic and acting like a zombie was chasing me.

  “That’s a real shame. Because I just got lost in your eyes and can’t find my way out.”

  I spin on my heel to run away but crash immediately into the chest of another guy. My coffee explodes over him, and I gasp at the sight of the huge brown wet patch bleeding out across his shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, burning hot with embarrassment, but he just smiles.

  “It’s okay. I needed something to cool me down after seeing you,” he drawls, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off to reveal washboard abs.

  “It must be fate us meeting like this. Can I get your number?” he asks, pulling a pen from his briefcase and handing it to me.

  “Write it on my chest so I can keep you close to my heart,” he says, and I’m about to make another quick escape from yet another corny chat-up line when I ask myself why the hell am I trying to fight this?

  I wished for this, and Zeno said there’s no taking it back, so I may as well make the most of it.

  Sure I can’t get Zeno’s blue body out of my mind, but dating a genie isn’t a feasible option. On the other hand, there are now a ton of real guys who do want to date me, surely there’s a chance that one of these guys will be my soulmate?

  Yes, they’re all way too over the top, but isn’t that what true love is supposed to be like?

  Who wants mediocre love? Not me, that’s for sure. So, I take the pen from his hand, press it against his smooth skin, and start writing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zeno

  “Zeno! Zeno!” are the words I hear before my body starts to swirl and I’m pulled into the human realm once again by enchanting Bethany.

  “Thank you so much,” she squeals, holding out her arms and lunging at me with such force that she topples forward when she passes straight through me.

  I use magic to catch her before she hits the floor, then carefully set her back on her feet.

  “Of course, you can’t hug. Sorry, what was I thinking?” she says, tutting to herself and shaking her head.

  I’ve never had any interest in being touched by a human before, but I feel an ache of longing.

  I’ve granted millions of wishes throughout my existence, yet Bethany is the first human to call me back since being finished with my magic. She makes me feel valued and my body has a visceral urge to express this appreciation.

  “What are you thanking me for, Whirlwind?” I ask, forcing out my futile desire to touch this beautiful woman.

  “All of these,” she says, stuffing her hand into the back pocket of her jeans and pulling out multiple scraps of paper with numbers scrawled across them.

  “And this pleases you because you are a number enthusiast?” I ask, puzzled by the significance of these numerals.

  “These aren’t just any old numbers. They’re all phone numbers,” she says, an adorable smile lighting up her face. “Seriously, I could go out for dinner every night for the next two weeks.”

  “And this is agreeable to you because you dislike preparing dinner,” I say, remembering last night’s fascinating conversation and feeling satisfied with my conclusion.

  “No,” she says, snorting out a laugh. “And sorting dinner isn’t exactly a big problem for me anymore,” she says, gesturing toward the space where the pile of burgers once lay and then doing a double take.

  “Hey, where have they all gone?”

  “I made the assumption you would prefer not to return home to a pile of festering burgers in your kitchen.”

  “I thought you couldn’t undo wishes,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “I cannot, but I can use magic to transport them to the trash like so,” I say, using my magic to levitate the slips of paper out of her hand.

  “Hey, I need those,” she says, leaping into the air and snatching them back.

  “Tell me then, Whirlwind. What is so precious about these numbers?”

  “They’re precious to me,” she says, and my mouth tugs up into a grin as she mimics my style of speaking, “because these are all guys that want to date me.”

  The smile drops from my face like a block of granite, and my body feels so weighed down that floating becomes an effort.

  The delight I felt from being the focus of her attention had made me neglect to remember her final wish. Now I want to burn those pieces of paper to ashes.

  “I am glad this pleases you,” I say, dutifully forcing out the words and trying not to choke on them.

  “Farewell, Whirlwind. I wish you an enjoyable life,” I say, reducing my size to shrink back into my lamp and away from her for the final time.

  It would seem it is better not to be treated with worth because the melancholy I feel now is torturous.

  “You wish me an enjoyable life. Are you serious? Where are you going?” she asks, and I pause my disappearance.

  “You requested to thank me. That request was completed; therefore I was returning to my lamp to wait to be summoned by my next owner.”

  “What the hell? So that was it for you? You were just going to say goodbye and go back inside your lamp for good?”

  “Each time I have bid you farewell I have believed it to be the final time. The wishes have been granted. My service is complete. This is how it has always been.”

  “Wait, so usually people just make their wishes, and that’s it? Just a thank you and then they never speak to you again?”

  “Almost, except you are also the first person to have ever thanked me.”

  Her mouth falls open, and her eyes flare wide as she gasps.

  “So, everyone you’ve ever met has used you? Shit. I’m so sorry, Zeno,” she says, biting down on her lip, and a renewed feeling of wanting to hold her stirs inside of me.

  “That is my purpose,” I say, coolly, trying to force a smile that doesn’t come.

  “Well, I don’t want to be like everyone else,” she says, and before I can tell her she’s already more special than anyone I’ve met in the past seventy-two thousand years, she’s stomping around the kitchen and filling the air with her endearingly frenetic chatter.

  “We’re going to change this pattern. Let’s do something just for you. What do you like Zeno?” she asks, and her question renders me speechless as I stare at this mesmerizing woman full of wonder. Nobody has ever asked me what I enjoy.

  “Hello, earth to Zeno. Have you got any hobbies or anything? If you were a regular guy with a body like that, I’d assume you liked to work out, but you manifest those muscles instead of lifting weights, don’t you?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Thank fuck for that. I mean don’t get me wrong, I would have worked out if that’s what you wanted, but it’s not exactly my idea of a good night,” she says, and she draws another booming laugh out of me.

  “Tell me, Whirlwind. What is your idea of a good night? Let us do that.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she says, waving her finger at me in that beguiling way of hers.

  “You’re not flipping this around and making this another night all about me. You’re going to do something you want, and you’re going to enjoy it. Got it?”

  “Understood,” I reply with a chuckle.

  “So, try harder to think. What do you do when you’re hanging around in that lamp of yours?”

  “My life in the lamp is merely an existence. I have no desires of my own, therefore I seek nothing to please me,” I say, and although this is how my life always has been, when I speak the words out loud, they no longer ring true. I do have a desire now, and it’s her.

  “No offense, because I know you’ve spent a bazillion years doing that, but that sounds really boring.”

  Another laugh rips out of me. I can’t contain them around her. Everything she says delights me.

  “You must teach me how to have fun. Show me your human ways, and maybe I shall enjoy them too.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she says, tapping her finger against her pretty pink lips.

  “Usually when a friend comes around, you have food and drinks, but that’s a no-go for you,” she says, and hearing her refer to me as a friend spreads a blissful warm glow through me.

  “I’ve got it!” she yelps, jabbing her finger into the air sharply.

  “Come with me!” she says, instinctively reaching out to grab my hand, and then blushing when her fingers pass straight through.

  “Sorry, you’d think I’d remember by now,” she says, with a shake of her head.

  “I enjoy that you keep endeavoring to touch me,” I say, and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

  “I know, because I’m a calamity and you find it amusing when I screw up,” she tuts.

  “Far from it. I find you captivating, and every time you reach to touch me, it makes me feel wanted. You make me feel special, Whirlwind,” I say, attempting to articulate the new feelings she is rousing inside of me but not able to come anywhere near close.

  “You’re a genie who grants magical wishes. It’s pretty obvious you’re special,” she snorts, turning her back to me and walking into the living room without even the slightest idea of the effect she has on me.

  I float behind her and wait with anticipation as she snatches up the remote control from the zebra print footstool and switches on the television.

  “Are we to watch a show?” I ask, vaguely aware that humans of this era enjoy watching performances on thin square screens in their homes.

  “Better than that,” she says, putting her hand on her hip while she presses buttons until the words YouTube flash up. “We’re going to sing karaoke.”

  “What variety of music is karaoke?” I ask, thinking back to how the music preferences of humans have changed throughout my existence.

  “Any kind you want. That’s the best part. You just pick a song and sing it. What’s your favorite type of music?”

  “I have no preference,” I say honestly, and she laughs and shakes her head.

  “Let’s see what comes up first,” she says and proceeds to type the words most popular karaoke song with lyrics.

  The words ABBA, Dancing Queen flash up in glaring white against a pitch-black screen.

  “Okay,” she hums. “Not something I’d usually pick, but this will do,” she says, tossing the remote onto the couch and then bobbing her head in time to the upbeat music.

  “All you need to do is follow the words on the screen and sing along. I’ll go first to show you how.”

  I watch with eager fascination as she sways her hips from side to side. Two women appear on the screen with guitar players behind, the music trills louder and the words start to scroll.

  I stare expectantly at Bethany, waiting to hear her sing, but she opens her mouth and no words come out.

  At first, I assume this to be part of the performance, but as the words continue to display, and she remains silent, I realize something is amiss.

  “Do we have more requirements before the singing can commence?” I ask, and she starts to laugh.

 

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