19. Drew
DREW
Thankfully, Ivy and Sebastian are already in bed when I walk inside. I don't think I could survive them seeing me like this.
I quickly undress and crawl into bed. A smile curls my lips as I lie there, one arm tucked behind my head, replaying the last thirty minutes on a loop, my brain refusing to move on.
Jesus.
That kiss.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.
What the hell was that?
Because that wasn’t normal. At least, not for me.
My ex never kissed me like that. Not even when we first began dating.
My phone beeps. I immediately grab it, my heart pounding.
Violet: I made it home.
Me: Good. I had a wonderful time tonight.
Can you stop fawning over the woman?
Violet: Me, too. We’ll have to do it again soon. Like dinner. Tomorrow night?
A smile curves my lips as I type.
Me: You won the bet fair and square. So yeah.
Violet: Told you I would Want me to pick you up?
Me: Shouldn’t I be the one doing that?
Violet: I don’t follow rules. How’s 6:00 sound?
Me: That works. Where are we going?
Violet: It’s a surprise. I’m taking you to my favorite place.
Me: How should I dress?
Jesus. Why do I sound like I’ve never been on a date before?
Violet: Tie and jacket.
My eyes widen. Where is she taking me? There are a few restaurants in the city that Sebastian takes his clients to. All of them are swanky.
Play it cool.
Me: Okay. Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Violet: See you tomorrow. Have a nice night.
Me: You, too. Sweet dreams.
Violet: Sweet dreams.
I set my phone down and close my eyes.
Big mistake.
She’s even harder to forget in the dark.
I feel her soft, warm lips beneath mine all over again. Only this time, our hands roam. The fire burns hotter, consuming me.
I dip my hand beneath her purple sweater and—
Crash.
My eyes fly open.
I exhale sharply, sit up, and turn on my lamp. Broken glass glitters in the yellow light spilling from it.
A pair of yellowish-green eyes lock with mine.
Mr. Pickles sits on my desk, looking unbearably pleased with himself.
“Yeah. No,” I mutter to myself. “We’re not doing this.”
His ears twitch, and his tail flicks once.
I slide my feet into a pair of slippers and stand. “You made a mess.”
Mr. Pickles just stares at me, defiant.
Then his head turns toward my window, then back to me. “Meow.”
“No. You’re not going outside.”
His tail thumps. He looks angrier.
“Oh, I get it. You’re mad Violet left.” I crouch down, picking up the pieces and throwing them in the trash.
“Meow.”
Judging by his expression, that’s exactly what he means.
“She had to go home.”
His ears flatten against his head.
“I don’t make the rules.”
“Meow.”
His tail thumps harder like he doesn’t believe me.
“I can’t bring her back here.”
I check the floor once more to make sure I got all the pieces, then stand, facing my brother’s bratty cat.
“And I’m not calling her.”
Mr. Pickles jumps onto my nightstand.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I grab my phone, yank the charger free, and shove it in my pocket.
The damn cat could probably figure out how to call her.
“I’m going to get a drink.” I point at him. “Don’t make any more messes.”
He blinks at me, unaffected.
I watch him as I back to the door, then turn and slip quietly from the room.
I’m halfway down the hall when something crashes.
At least it isn’t glass this time.
“Such a brat,” I mutter.
Opening them, I continue toward the kitchen, cursing Mr. Pickles under my breath.
I look out the patio doors as I pass—
And stop.
I could’ve sworn someone was standing outside. A hood covered their head. Watching me.
I blink.
But there’s no one there.
Did I imagine it?
I had to.
My heart is beating faster as I continue on, glancing back once to make sure no one’s there.
You’re delusional.
The refrigerator hums as I step into the kitchen.
For the first time since I got here, the place feels… different. Not empty. Just… foreign.
Like something I’ve outgrown but still cling to because it’s familiar.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water.
I lean against the counter and take a drink.
The smell of jasmine lingers in the kitchen.
Weird.
It smells exactly like Violet.
That’s impossible.
She left hours ago.
It’s just your imagination.
I take a long drink, trying not to think about her.
When the glass is empty, I set it on the counter and exit the kitchen.
From the corner of my eye, something moves in the living room.
My head snaps in that direction.
I still, my eyes peering into the darkness.
Nothing.
I move closer, my skin prickling. I’m like one of those dumbasses in a slasher film. An idiot without a weapon. Just the type of curiosity that gets them killed.
No one’s there.
A nervous laugh escapes me, my taut muscles relaxing… until I see movement by the patio.
Like a moron, I creep closer. My pulse spikes as I stop in front of the glass, waiting…
What am I waiting for?
A masked killer to burst through the glass?
There’s no one there.
Only darkness.
I huff out a quiet breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “You’re losing it,” I mutter. “You’re just being paranoid.”
I take a step back and—
“MEOW.”
I jump, realizing I stepped on Mr. Pickles’ tail.
“Goddamn it.” My chest heaves as I stare at his eyes, which glow even more in the dark. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He glares at me, his tail flicking as if he’s seconds away from attacking.
“Sorry.”
He glares at me.
“It was an accident.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me.
“Damn it, it was.”
His tail flicks again, an angry thump against the wooden floor.
“Stop judging me. I didn’t know you were there.”
His hair is still standing up.
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms. “You gonna attack me again?”
He stares at me for a moment before his head turns to the patio door.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I turn, following his gaze.
But I don’t see anything.
This whole time I’ve been terrified someone was lurking around, and it’s probably the damn psycho cat.
I look back at him, the tension leaving me. “You’re weird.”
He blinks slowly, like he knows something I don’t.
I shake my head. I’m not spending the night arguing with a cat.
I glance back at Mr. Pickles. He’s still calmly staring out the patio door.
I follow his gaze… and shriek.
There’s a hooded figure looking inside.
I stumble backward into the couch.
When I look again…
No one’s there.
Mr. Pickles looks at me.
“Maybe you’re not scared,” I whisper. “But I am.”
I take off running down the hallway and don’t stop until I’m in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
I lie there, shaking, questioning my own sanity.
Did I really see something?
Or rather, someone?
I yelp, then calm down when I realize Mr. Pickles jumped on my bed.
I stick my head out of the covers. “You saw it, too?”
He slowly turns his head toward the window.
With a shriek, I yank the covers back over my head.
Fuck this.
No more ghosts tonight.