Chapter 6 #2
“I thought we were telling ghost stories about plants that are mild irritants at worst. When you touch them! Don’t eat them,” she said, and looked directly into the camera.
“I’m telling ghost stories. You’re doing a PSA while I check the EMF meter,” he said.
“We’re in a major city right next to a naval—”
“Three things you can’t touch. Go!”
Max put the camera on a tripod, then walked over to an electronic box with a dial and lots of lights. It looked exactly like something that you’d expect scientifically-minded ghost hunters to use, which Sloane was pretty sure meant it was fake. She sighed.
“Okay, first is probably anything radioactive,” she told the camera, ticking it off on a finger. “But we all knew that, right? If someone ever offers to show you their uranium collection, just say no.”
“And report them to the CIA,” Max added from several feet away, where he was crouching on the ground.
“I don’t think the CIA is the correct authority.”
“Tell us something else you can’t touch,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her and grinning. Sloane’s heart kicked.
“Jellyfish,” she said. “Most of them will just hurt a lot, but there are a couple species that can stop your heart if they sting you. Also, poison dart frogs. If you’re in the rainforest and you see a tiny orange frog, do not touch it.”
“Noted. Should we start with the EMF meter or the spirit box?” Max asked, standing and brushing his hands off. Sloane looked down at the equipment. It was blinking with interesting lights and dials.
“Well, they’re both bullshit, so you choose,” she said, and Max laughed.
Sloane did not do a good job of being a chill, agreeable guest. She tried.
Mostly. Sort of. Well, she meant to try, but every time she slipped and said something like Or maybe it’s lighting up because we’re in a major city with a functioning electric grid, Max would push her, and she’d push back, and before she knew it, they were arguing and she was staring at his mouth.
Or his hands. Or the particular way the seams of his T-shirt sleeves looked where they disappeared over his shoulders.
Would fucking in the poison garden give someone a rash? Probably. It would probably also get someone a public-indecency charge, which was a bigger problem.
“All right,” Max finally said after what felt like either five minutes or five hours. “I think we’ve proven enough hauntings for tonight.”
“You mean we haven’t proven any?”
“Stay spooky,” Max told the camera, which was apparently still on, then shut it off. “That’s gonna be popular,” he told her.
“What is? A bunch of plants in the dark?”
“Yeah, people love dark plants,” he deadpanned, then walked over to her. He was still holding the camera in one hand and still had that stupid camera harness strapped on over his shirt, and Sloane’s fingertips tingled anyway.
“Obviously what’s gonna be popular is me getting thoroughly told off by a hot woman who doesn’t believe me for a second,” he said, and took another step closer. Sloane felt herself flush. She could feel her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat.
After a moment, she realized she was looking at Max’s mouth and raised her eyes.
“In my experience, people don’t usually like that,” she said.
“Then you’ve got the wrong audience.”
“And you’ve got the right one?”
“I guess we’ll find out, but I’m usually a pretty good judge,” he said. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.
“Are we still doing the ocean walk tonight, or are we saving it for tomorrow?” Sloane asked.
“Well, I was thinking,” Max started. He leaned away and grabbed the camera case, opening it.
“If the camera we set up earlier catches something tonight, then we’d really have something to talk about tomorrow,” he said, zipping the camera into the case and lowering it to the ground again.
“So it makes more sense to wait. Professionally speaking.”
He tugged at the closure to his camera harness, then frowned when it didn’t unbuckle.
“As long as you’re being professional when you’re pretending to see ghosts,” Sloane said, watching his hands. “I wouldn’t want to compromise your chicanery.”
“Shit, Sloane, that’s a good word,” Max said, his voice a little lower than before. “What was it you called me at the wedding?” He tugged at the harness again. It didn’t budge, and Sloane wasn’t sure whether he was faking it or not, but she didn’t care.
“You want me to get that?”
He grinned, again. “Would you?”
Just for that, she pulled it away from his chest and let it snap back. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make Max inhale sharply, lips parted.
“I think it was charlatan,” she said, and slid her fingers under the buckle. It came apart immediately, so she tugged on it again before she let Max take it off. “Maybe also snake oil salesman—I can’t remember.”
There was no reason for Max to take off his stupid camera harness one arm at a time, making his T-shirt stretch around his shoulders like that, but he did. Sloane’s whole body felt hot against the cool night air, and she didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t watching him do it.
“Wow,” he said, low and teasing. “You must be having a terrible time, then.”
His shirt was still a little twisted, so Sloane reached out and tugged it back into place. Max looked down to watch her hand, and when he looked back up, there was something predatory in his gaze.
“Not quite,” she said. “I could use a charlatan right now, actually. I think the air-conditioning in my room might be haunted.”
“Well, then,” Max said, that look still in his eyes. “We should head back right away.”