25. Coraline
25
CORALINE
The moment we step inside Grand Avenue, a chill runs down my spine. The air conditioning blows from a nearby vent above our heads.
“It looks so different right now.”
I’ve never been here when there wasn’t a concert. No bass rattling the vintage light fixtures, no wall-to-wall bodies, no ringing ears from the noise level.
The walls are adorned with old posters and faded photographs, whispering tales of musicians and memories long gone. I can almost hear the echo of their voices, layered with the distant hum of a crowd’s applause. It’s eerie and electric, a strange mix that sets my nerves on edge.
Jasper walks beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of this mildly unsettling atmosphere. In this light, I can see how the ghost rumors got started.
I glance over at him, my heart doing that annoying little flip thing it started doing a few days ago. I thought I’d trained that response out of my system after that fateful night at the clubhouse. But tonight, with the ghosts of the past lingering in every shadowed corner, the lines between reality and pretense feel blurrier than ever.
“Welcome, my esteemed guests, to tonight’s guided tour of Grand Avenue,” the tour guide intones with a sweep of his hands.
He’s dressed in an outfit that reminds me of Jack the Ripper: double-breasted red vest, black overcoat cape and slacks, a cane, and a black top hat.
He has the showmanship down, that’s for sure.
“If you are scared of ghosts, dark spaces, and things that go bump in the night, please exit the way you came in. This tour is not for the faint of heart.” The tour guide’s gelled mustache twitches as he looks between the twenty or so people here.
A bell tolls from somewhere deeper inside the building, and I know it was planned, but I flinch anyway.
“Scared already, baby? We haven’t even started yet,” Jasper murmurs.
“This is probably a good time to tell you I don’t really do scary.” I glance up at him.
“No haunted houses on Halloween?” he teases.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Scary movies?”
I shake my head harder. “Absolutely not.”
“If the two in the back are ready, we’re about to begin,” the tour guide chastises us.
As the group gathers around the guide, I feel Jasper's hand brush against mine. It's a simple touch, but it sends a jolt of warmth through me.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll protect you from any ghosts.”
We’re thirty minutes into the haunted tour, and so far, it’s been underwhelming. It’s a lot of conjecture, kind of like those ghost hunting docuseries, where they tell you a bunch of facts and let you draw the conclusion. And sure, there are some seriously spooky coincidences, but nothing too crazy.
Really, the most unbelievable part of the tour is the building’s rich history. Before it was a music venue, it had a full life. Athletic club for men, private club for the wealthy, and even a speakeasy during the prohibition era.
“I can’t believe this is all actually here, Jasper. I thought it was mostly rumors. The kind of thing the venue staff whispers about to build up hype and intrigue, ultimately bring more people to their shows,” I murmur, leaning toward Jasper.
God, even that sounds weird. I’ve been calling him Jagger for years now. And even though he’s gently corrected me a few times, it didn’t feel like it was mine to use. Not when it’s a temporary thing. When we’re temporary.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Jasper feels right though. This side of him doesn’t feel like Jagger. But maybe I’m still a little biased.
He tosses his arm over my shoulders, curling me into him as we stroll behind the handful of people on tour with us. “Yeah, well, so far all I see is a bunch of hallways. I’m not convinced there’s any truth to any of those rumors.”
“You will be,” the guy in front of us whispers over his shoulder. “My wife and I were here last year during Halloween. We lucked out for a full moon, too. And the shit that happened was unexplainable. Tell ’em, Beth.” He nudges the woman next to him with his elbow.
His wife, Beth, swats him in the chest, a soft tap with a tsk. “Don’t freak ’em out, Steve. You don’t want to ruin their first time.”
Steve flashes us a rueful grin. “You’re right. Sorry, guys,” he tosses out over his shoulder. “Best you experience it organically.” His wife ushers him closer to the tour guide, her whispered admonishment too low for me to hear.
“Organically,” Jasper murmurs with a laugh. “How much you wanna bet he’s an amateur ghost hunter?”
I shake my head, a few tendrils falling free from my ponytail. I don’t even know why I bothered to curl my hair. Even though we were in Jasper’s truck, we had all the windows down.
I’m not really mad about it though. There’s something nostalgic about the hot summer night air twirling through a car window with soft music in the background.
“Everyone needs a hobby,” I droll, giving him a pointed look and shrugging his arm off. “You don’t have to lay on the PDA here. There’s no one around.” My cheeks heat a little bit, but I ignore the way my stomach flips around.
“I happen to have several hobbies.” He grins, unfazed by the reminder.
“Talking to your cat doesn’t count,” I deadpan.
He presses a hand against his chest like he’s wounded. “Pudding will be devastated once he hears that you don’t value him as a member of our household.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile creeps out along the corners of my mouth. “I think he’ll live.”
“Some strawberry shortcake biscuits, and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”
“So weird Pudding loves strawberry shortcakes because I thought that was your favorite?”
“Nah, baby, you know exactly what my favorite dessert is.”
“Yeah,” I scoff with a laugh, my gaze crawling along the fading wallpaper peeling in the corners of the giant ballroom. “Strawberry shortcake biscuits.”
He’s in front of me in the next breath, his handsome face filling my vision and blocking out the rest of the room. Soft, yellow light bathes his face in shadows, highlighting his jawline and cheekbones. He looks like some sort of fallen angel right now. Dark hair hanging over one side of his forehead and brushing against his brows.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out low and husky, a testament to the way my heart kicks against my ribcage.
“Making sure you don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that my favorite dessert is your cunt.”
I swallow hard, my eyes widening at his blunt words. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and spread down my chest. “That’s not—I mean—it’s been?—”
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, literally saving me right now. It’s a persistent buzzing, which means it’s a phone call. Even if it’s a telemarketer, I’m going to bake them a cake or something because I’ve never been so tongue-tied in front of this man in my whole goddamn life.
The only people who ever call me are my mom and Evangeline. And lately, Eve doesn’t call. She sends random three a.m. texts when she’s awake feeding her baby.
“Let me help you, baby,” Jagger whispers against my lips. His fingers dip into my back pocket and pluck the phone out just as it starts vibrating again.
I expect him to hand me the phone or show me who’s calling, but he takes one look at the screen and then pockets my phone. He crowds me against the wall again, reclaiming any of the space he put between us when he stole my phone.
I arch a brow and ignore the way my heart thumps against my ribcage. “Is there a reason you did that?”
He leans his forearms against the wall on either side of my head, dipping his face low. “Is there something going on between you and Hawke?” His words are curious, pleasant enough, but the tone is what takes me out.
He sounds jealous.
But wait, that can’t be right. Time to test that theory.
I lift a shoulder and aim for casual and coy. “Why? Would you be jealous if you knew Hawke was crawling into my bed every night?” I keep my tone light, teasing.
He growls this low noise of frustration. “Are you not mine, baby?”
I glance to either side of us and lean in, keeping my voice low. “We’re pretending, Jasper.”
He steps into me further, sliding his palm from the wall to the front of my throat. His fingertips rest over my pulse point, but his hand is all but forgotten when I feel his cock press against me. Jesus Christ, how am I still surprised by the size of him? He was just grinding me against his door.
“Does this feel fake to you, baby?” he murmurs against my lips.
He slides his thumb underneath my jaw and tilts my face toward his. I don’t know what I’m thinking except that he’s everywhere. His mouth-watering scent surrounds me, his warm breath ghosting over my lips.
I shake my head, slow enough to drag my lips against his. His quick inhale is lush. I feel like I could get drunk off these kinds of feelings. They’re the most dangerous things I’ve ever faced.
“Fuck it,” I murmur, leaning in and sealing my lips to his.
Later, when I’m replaying this moment while I’m in the shower, I’m going to tell myself that I had to. That I was simply playing the role of the smitten girlfriend.
Might as well sell the lie.