Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Present Day

“What in the holy fuck happened to your neck?”

I wince as Tilly’s jumps to her feet from the bench she was waiting for me on. Scrambling, I take out my phone and flip the camera to selfie mode so I can see what she’s talking about.

Sure enough, there’s a smattering of purplish blotches in random spots, but nothing that looks like a handprint at least. I place my hand over it, hiding the marks from view.

“I…uh…fell in the shower?” I say meekly.

Tilly gives me a flat stare. “Don’t bullshit me, Nova. Who did this? Was it that Jimmy guy?”

I blush, remembering how she got me to talk about him yesterday, and then blush deeper when I remember seeing him last night. “No!” I exclaim. “I fell!”

“Mmhmm,” she answers, narrowing her eyes. Then they widen with a grin. “Did you fuck him? Did my BFF get a throat necklace?”

My mouth drops open. “A what?”

Wait. Her BFF? Really?

“So you’re not denying you boned Jimmy?”

A high-pitched laugh I’ve never made in my life spills out of my mouth. “No! I mean, yes! I did not do…that…with him.”

Her lips twist as she studies me. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but you’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?”

I can’t help it. I feel a wave of emotion at her question, my eyes watering. I can’t remember the last time anybody took a moment to ask if I was all right and to offer me a safe place to land.

Blinking back the moisture building along my eyelid, I beam at her. “I would tell you if I was in trouble,” I promise.

And it is a promise. I don’t think Ghost Whisperer is major trouble.

Yet.

Tilly drops it, thankfully. My new goth friend may be decorated head-to-toe in black, but I think she’s more sunshine than anything. I quickly unbraid my hair, while she gathers her bag and books, and fluff it out so it’ll drape around my face and hide most of the markings. What can I say? I’ve learned how to cover bruises and welts.

Later, after our second and final day of orientation is done, Tilly gives me a huge hug, squeezing me tight.

“If I didn’t have to meet with my parents and Amberly, we could totally go out this weekend,” she complains.

“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “Maybe a different weekend. I mean, if you want. You probably have other friends or plans. We don’t—”

Tilly eyes me as a babble. “Nova. Quit being so damn eager to please.” I must not hide the way my face falls when she says it because she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m not friends with girls I don’t want to see. You can just say that we’ll go out another weekend and leave it at that. Be assertive. You’re not going to get in trouble for saying what you want. Not with me.”

“I just don’t want to presume…” I trail off as she lifts a brow, then take in a deep breath. “Fine,” I say, putting sass into my voice. “Next weekend we’re going out.”

I almost giggle at how silly I sound ‘commanding’ her.

She grins. “Yes, we sure as fuck will,” she replies. “See you Monday.”

I wave as she stomps away in her heavy boots, smiling when she waves back. I walk the opposite direction she did to head home. As I come to the end of my trek, at the corner of the street I now live on, I hesitate, my feet stopping on their own. I tenderly touch the bruises on my neck, wincing as my fingers prod the sore tissue. Will Ghost Whisperer bother me tonight?

I consider what it will mean if he does.

On one hand, his behavior makes me want to never go back into that house. I’ve never dealt with a ghost like him. Granted, I don’t normally deal with them at all, but they don’t usually give me the time of day. I don’t understand why this one is.

On the other hand, I exhale a shaky breath as I remember how Ghost Whisperer’s hand gripping my throat made me feel; how, if he had decided to, I would have allowed him to touch me other places too. Any place he wanted.

Do ghosts even have that sort of desire still?

Where would he touch me?

I can blame the heat for my face turning bright red from thinking those dirty thoughts. Once again, I shake myself, wondering what is wrong with me. This is a ghost. He’s dead.

I really need to stop reading those smutty paranormal romances.

With a show of false confidence, I straighten and purposefully stride home. I throw the door open after unlocking it, catching it before it can bounce off the wall. Closing it soundlessly behind me, my eyes scanning the living room, my heart beating out of my chest with a mix of fear and excitement.

Nothing happens.

I scold the part of me that’s disappointed, taking another step into the house, when I hear something clang in the kitchen. I’m ashamed of how I dart forward, hoping to catch Ghost Whisperer unaware.

But it’s not him when I round the corner.

I pause as I take in the scene, scanning over the various ingredients spread from one end of the kitchen to the other. The sink is overflowing with dishes and two pans sizzle on the stovetop. In the middle of it all is Rhea.

“Hey,” she greets with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her face since I arrived three days ago. It is almost too big—more a baring of teeth.

I slide my backpack off, letting it hang in my hands. “You’re cooking?”

Rhea nods, then turns to me with a wide eyed, earnest expression. “I figured I would make an early dinner for us after the way we’ve been butting heads.”

My brows draw together, wondering if she means her crabby attitude since I got there. But the motion catches her attention, and her brow lifts, almost like she’s challenging me to challenge her.

When I smooth out my expression, she gives me a pretty smile. “I am sorry if I said anything to offend you, but I would never deliberately try to hurt you, Nova. You should know that. You’ve always been a bit too sensitive, though,” she adds, turning her back on me.

I nod, even though she can’t see me. She’s right. I can be sensitive. I’ve been told that for as long as I can remember.

“So I figured I’d make dinner,” she continues.

I eye a pan full of sizzling meat. “It’s…uh…not veal, right?” I ask tentatively.

Rhea laughs, tossing her head back and making her dark locks sway. “No, silly. It’s pork chops.”

When she doesn’t speak again, I take my bag to my room. Before I can set it down on my bed, I feel the cold wash over me. I go motionless, waiting, my eyes fixed on the blanket covering my bed.

The cold remains, but there are no other signs of a ghost with me.

“Not now,” I whisper. “Leave Rhea out of it.”

It takes a moment, but then the cold fizzles out, leaving me chilled in the semi-stuffy room. With a sigh of relief at our unspoken truce, I set down my bag, wondering how long it will last.

As it turns out, the truce between me and Ghost Whisperer lasts the weekend. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed by it.

What I can say with certainty is I’m disappointed Jimmy didn’t show up to see me either.

I push all my thoughts of ghosts and men out of my head when I see Tilly on Monday morning. I bound over to her, my backpack thumping against my butt with my excited steps.

“First day of classes!” I chirp, eagerly accept the hug she pulls me into.

She smirks. “You say that like English Lit isn’t going to be unfailingly boring.”

“Not for me,” I say in a singsong voice as she gathers her bag and books. “I love literature.”

“It’s all just so…extra,” Tilly sighs as I fall into step with her. “All the ‘thee’ and ‘thou’, and words that look goddamn made up.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Good thing I have a friend that gets this shit, huh?”

I grin, but Tilly doesn’t miss a beat, her expression becoming less agonized and more excited. “I heard a crazy story about this class,” she announces. “The professor who used to exclusively teach this class disappeared during finals week last spring.” She waggles her fingers as she speaks, like a spooky witch casting a spell, her tone turning more ominous.

Frowning, my steps slow. “He just disappeared?”

Tilly shrugs. “I guess all his personal stuff was still in his office and in his apartment. There’s all sorts of theories, though: he ran off with a student he was having sex with; he committed suicide and his body is hidden somewhere on campus; he was arrested for smuggling guns and drugs. You name it, there’s a theory about it.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe the guy had a mental breakdown.”

“That,” Tilly laughs, “is another theory floating around.”

“I wonder why everyone is so obsessed with him.” I muse, pulling open the door and holding it for Tilly to enter the building.

“From what I can tell from the gossip?” she says, grinning mischievously. “It’s because he was hot as fuck.”

I giggle nervously. “That explains it, then. I think girls are more vicious about stuff like that than boys are sometimes.”

“Hell yes they are. You ought to see when Amberly sets her sights on some poor dude.”

Our conversation dies as we round the corner and find a handful of girls crowding the hallway. They’re all whispering at once, pointing at something, completely unperturbed that they’re blocking traffic.

“I wonder what it is.” I go up on my tiptoes but see nothing more than I already have.

“Come on,” Tilly replies, and snakes her way through the group without a single apology. Several of the girls get huffy and stomp away, even after I issue them each a timid ‘excuse us’. By the time we’ve made it to the front, most of the girls are moving out of our way, shooting us dirty looks.

“Jesus,” Tilly groans. “That is what they were all freaking out about?”

I lean around her so I can see and freeze.

The wall is lined with framed photos of department staff, name placards under each one. I don’t know how I know which one the girls were all chattering about, but I do. It’s the one of a handsome man, his sienna-colored skin contrasting with a white button-up shirt that fits snugly across his body. His long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing one stud earring in his left ear, and his facial hair looks impeccably groomed around his easy grin.

But that’s not what has me holding my breath.

His warm brown eyes seem to stare right into mine and I feel this strong desire to rip the frame off the wall. Possessiveness screams through me and I hate—hate—that all those girls were here discussing how undeniably beautiful he is.

The placard underneath his picture reads, ‘Rohan Desai, Department Head Professor’.

It takes me a few moments to realize that Tilly is talking. My eyes shift to her, reluctantly leaving the image of the professor.

“…can see why they’re all flipping out. He is definitely hot. I’d have done him.”

“You would have slept with your professor?” I ask sharply—a little too sharply.

I don’t know why I ask that particular question. It sounds judgmental, especially since I’m fairly confident if the professor was here in the flesh, I’d be worshipping at his feet like he was my only deity, based on my reaction to a mere photo. But I can’t very well tell Tilly that.

She does a double take at me, then cocks her head with a curious expression. “Nova, are you all right?”

No. No, I’m not. I’m sweating profusely, and it’s not from the heat. Something is wrong with me, and my gaze slides back to Professor Desai’s image like it’s responsible for what is happening right now.

I force myself to take a breath and shoot a small smile at Tilly. “I’m fine. I’m going to use the restroom right quick and then I’ll meet you in class. Okay?”

Tilly stops me before I can walk back down the hall to the restrooms we passed. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks, and she sounds worried.

I nod. “Probably just nerves for the first class,” I lie. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She doesn’t stop me this time, and I make it to the bathroom. It’s quiet and abandoned when I enter. Going to the sink, I pat water onto my cheeks and neck, letting the coolness and a few meditative breaths ground me.

I don’t have time to mess around—Tilly and I weren’t going to be that early for class to start with. I check over my appearance, swiping at a bit of mascara that’s smudged at the corner of my eye, either from sweat or the water I just used.

I’m alone in the hall as I walk past the line of photos, my heart beating faster with every step that brings me back to Professor Desai’s. The second my eyes land on him, I have the same reaction as the first time I gazed at it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to deconstruct these feelings, but don’t get anywhere before I hear footsteps. I don’t move, but my eyes fly open when I hear two female voices whispering the name ‘Desai’. I grit my teeth against the abnormal feeling I’ve never experienced before—pure jealousy—staring at the professor in question. They don’t stop the way the other girls had, continuing down the hall with their whispers and giggles.

Without allowing myself to consider what I’m doing, I reach forward and snatch the frame, accidentally yanking the hook it’s hanging on partially out of the wall. The metal of the clips holding the photo into the frame bite into my fingertips as I yank them open. The photo seems to burn in my hand as I pull it from the frame.

My fingers don’t quite touch the image as I trace them over Professor Desai’s face, my insides buzzing with anticipation. Anticipation of what, I don’t know.

A door shutting in the distance brings me back to the moment. My breathing becomes more panicked as I shove the frame under my arm and sling my backpack off my shoulders. One handed, I unzip the main compartment and find my notebook, carefully placing the print between two middle pages so it won’t get damaged.

I hear footsteps coming as I’m cramming the hook back into the wall. Quickly, I hang the empty frame once more, not caring when it tips to the right.

Without looking back, I hurry to class, trying to forget how I just committed theft for the first time in my life.