Chapter 12
Present Day
The first thing I notice when I wake up is that my light is flickering, left on after I fell asleep post-orgasm last night.
I immediately groan, then sigh. Sitting up, I quickly tuck my breasts back into my tank top. The ghosts are already breaking half a dozen boundaries. I don’t need to flash them on purpose.
“What do you want?” I ask, and my voice sounds exasperated even to me.
“Nova,” he whispers. My same Ghost Whisperer.
I snort. “Okay, this is getting old. You’re not cute. It’s just annoying now.”
There’s silence in response. Then…
“Little bitch!” Ghost Whisperer rages, still out of sight. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
My heart thumped a little harder at that. “Why?”
I flinch as my phone skitters across the floor, an invisible force sweeping it off the bed, and this ghost’s anger is palpable in the air. For the first time—including last night—I get the sense that this ghost does truly wish me harm.
Easing to my feet, I hold out my hands placatingly, eyes searching the room. “It’s hardly fair,” I say, fighting to keep a tremble out of my voice. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
A brisk knock on the door has me jumping out of my skin. Rhea pushes it open without waiting for me to okay the entrance, her eyes already narrowed when they land on me.
“Who are you talking to?” she demands.
I open my mouth, then close it. How am I supposed to answer that?
“I said no guys here.” Rhea crosses her arms, scanning the room. “I said no one here.”
“I don’t…” I trail off, nervous because of her behavior. I stare as she leans down, trying to look under the bed. “Rhea, there’s no one here. I was just talking to myself.” I tuck my hand into the material of my shorts, crossing my fingers.
I’m not sure if I’m crossing my fingers because I just lied to my sister, or if because I’m wishing luck upon myself, that Ghost Whisperer doesn’t do something outrageous right now. The cold recedes suddenly, making me hold in a sigh of relief.
She straightens, arms still tightly crossed. “Fine. Come on. I got breakfast.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Rhea,” I reply, following her out. “I could have made us something.”
“It’s not a big deal.” She shrugs. “Just pancakes.”
“Yum,” I say, giving her a smile. “I’m going to run to the bathroom first.”
“No,” Rhea says sharply, pointing to the couch where two black takeout containers balance precariously on the arms. “I got you food, so sit.”
“I—Okay,” I answer when she narrows her eyes at me again, a pang of guilt hitting me low in the gut that I’m being ungrateful. I hurry to sit, pulling the container into my lap.
Rhea’s face breaks into a smile. “Sorry, Nova,” she sighs. “I’m just tired. You may go use the bathroom if you need to.”
I give her a grateful smile, then hop up. “I’ll be right back!” I promise. “Then pancakes!”
I hurry to relieve my bladder, only gone a minute or two so Rhea won’t get annoyed with me being gone too long. I return to find her staring at her phone, her food sitting in her lap unopened. As soon as I reenter the room, she locks her phone, putting it face down and cramming it under her leg.
Making a big show of opening my food, I dig my fork in and pry off a piece of pancakes covered with fresh strawberries. My gasp is loud when I see what leaks out of the middle of the pancake. “Rhea!” I squeal. “It’ll be just like Grammy used to make us!”
Grammy—Dad’s mother—sometimes watched us when we were little and our parents had something to do. Our favorite thing to ask for when we visited, no matter if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, was pancakes spread with Nutella and topped with strawberries. These aren’t topped with Nutella, but filled with it.
One corner of her mouth lifts. “Went to a little coffee shop that makes them. I thought I would be kind and go out of my way to get you some.”
I throw my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her in a side hug. “Thank you! It was super kind of you. You’re the best.”
Rhea’s smile grows until I can see her teeth. They disappear again as she eats without another word.
I devour my stack, groaning when I finish every bite. “I have a food baby,” I groan, patting my stomach. “Those were so good.”
“You shouldn’t have eaten all that,” Rhea mutters, snapping the lid onto two-thirds of her remaining pancakes. “You’ll get fat.”
Mortification makes me queasy and all I want to do is go throw up everything I just ate. “You’re right,” I stutter out. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
She glances at me, no expression on her face. “Be more aware next time.”
“Yes, Rhea,” I say quickly. “I will.”
Shooting me a satisfied smile, she rises, taking my empty container and her mostly full one. “Do you have class today?”
I shake my head, following her into the kitchen. “No. I have another orientation thing in a little bit, though.”
“Hmmm,” Rhea hums, discarding my container and sticking hers in the fridge. She faces me, leaning against the counter. “I remember orientation. It was boring.”
“It hasn’t been too bad,” I reply, smiling as I think of Tilly. “I made a friend yesterday. I can’t wait for classes to start.”
She scowls at me. “Must be nice,” she mutters.
My already queasy tummy twists again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it must be nice to have the chance to go to school. Not all of us get fancy scholarships that pay for everything,” she answers, giving me a pointed look. “Some of us have to drop out because we can’t afford to keep going.”
I blink at the venom in her voice. “I thought you didn’t want to go to school anymore?”
Rhea snorts, rolling her eyes. “I had to drop out. Dad wouldn’t give me his tax info so I could get financial aid, and the financial aid office at the school denied my request to exclude him from my application.”
“Dad said—”
“I know what Dad said!” she shouts, her hands balling into fists. I take a step back, eyes wide, and her angry expression smooths over. “I know what he said,” she repeats, her voice level. “I couldn’t get FAFSA. I didn’t have any scholarships. I couldn’t get approved for enough of a loan to keep attending.”
“Rhea,” I say, my eyes welling with tears. “I didn’t know.” I don’t push and check whether she really knows if Dad said that she dropped out because she lazy and too busy partying, flunking every one of her classes in the first semester—though his version of that statement was littered with expletives and references to my sister being a loose woman. “If you want to go back, we can figure it out together. You’ll have some extra funds now that I’m here. You could even go get some classes out of the way at a community—”
“No.”
“Please, Rhea—”
“No, Nova,” she snaps. “I don’t want to go back.”
“O—Okay,” I say, breathing out hard. “I don’t know what to say,” I add nervously. “The scholarship was unexpected.”
“It’s fine,” she huffs.
“I don’t feel like it’s fine,” I whisper, tugging at my hair. I feel little pops as I accidentally pull too hard, plucking a few strands from my scalp.
Rhea waves me off. “Whatever. I need to get some sleep.”
I can’t meet her eyes, lowering my gaze to the hair trapped in my hand. When her door slams, I release a pent up breath. I always hated when Rhea got moody. She must be coming up on her period. Maybe the sleep will help calm her down. That’s probably all that was—she’s exhausted.
Resolved to make sure I’m home in time to make her some food before she has to go to work tonight, I rush through getting ready, braiding my hair back just like yesterday. I eye the bruises on my arms in the bathroom mirror. They’re not purple anymore, but still obvious, turning an ugly shade of yellowish brown. Another tee today, for sure.
I brush my teeth, watching myself in the mirror as I do. As I lean down to spit, I feel cold slam into me. I freeze, staring at my toothpaste foam streaking toward the drain, waiting to be grabbed. When I don’t feel any touches, I tentatively look back over my shoulder.
Nothing.
Sighing, I push myself upright, doing my best to ignore the cold. Flipping ghosts.
A scream lodges in my throat when I look in the mirror once more, my knees buckling. A man is standing behind me, like yesterday, but this time I can see him clearly. His eyes burn into me through the reflection, full of hatred. His square jaw is clenched, making the cords in his neck pop and giving the tattoos decorating every inch of his throat look three dimensional. I have zero doubts. This is Ghost Whisperer and I don’t think he was kidding earlier—he really wants to kill me.
The only reason I haven’t crashed to the floor is because I’m clutching onto the vanity for dear life.
And yet…
Despite the fear, I feel something unexpected creeping up on me as my eyes search every inch of him I can see in the mirror.
Longing.
I’m taken aback by the full force of the desire that crashes into me as I study him. He’s wearing a tee shirt featuring a band that sounds vaguely familiar, stretched tightly over a bodybuilder body. Not the gross kind where they wear tiny little speedos and flex in pageants. No, this is the kind of manly body ripped with muscles gained from hard work, determination, and extremely health conscious behavior—and probably a little narcissism.
More ink runs along his arms, disappearing under the sleeve of his tee. There isn’t a single space of undecorated skin that I can see. Curiosity fills me, wanting to study the images and inspect them closer, despite a blush that heats my cheeks when I see a naked woman on one forearm.
With a start, I realize I’m checking out Ghost Whisperer, the specter who has homicidal intentions for me. My eyes dart back to his, the panic hitting, and I spin, half expecting him to only be behind me in the mirror.
But he isn’t. Curling my fingers over the edge of the bathroom counter, I use it to keep me steady on my feet as he glowers down at me. I’m about to say something, anything to break the silence, when he moves.
I don’t get the chance to yell for help, his hand seizing my throat and cutting off any cries I could attempt to make. His eyes widen as he stares at my neck, almost comically, as his hand connects with my skin. Squeezing, his hand flexes, his eyes shoot back.
“I knew it,” he snarls. “I thought about last night a lot, little Nova. You ran into us last night. We can touch you.” He squeezes again, earning a wheeze from me.
Shoot shoot shoot.
Apparently, this was new information for him, that ghosts can touch people—or at least me. I try to focus on breathing, drawing in whatever air I can manage with the restriction he’s imposing on my windpipe, instead of noting how my nipples are pebbled and I’m getting increasingly moist between my legs while an enraged ghost cuts off my air.
What the heck is wrong with me?
“Please,” I rasp. “Please don’t hurt me.”
With a genuine growl straight off BookTok, he jerks me by my throat, bringing me nose-to-nose with him.
Gosh, he has beautiful eyes, my mind instantly sighs. So gray and blue that they almost appear silver.
NOVA, my self-preservation steps in screaming, STOP!
“We’re not done, you and I,” Ghost Whisperer rumbles, grinning wickedly when I shiver. I’m guessing he thinks it’s because I’m scared—which I am—but it is more because I’m ridiculously turned on by my life being threatened.
There really is something wrong with me.
“Later, little Nova,” he whispers. I flinch as he licks the side of my face, from my jaw to my temple, holding in the moan I want to release so badly. He disappears from sight before anything can slip, the hold on my throat leaving with him, and the cold immediately pulls back.
I swipe at where he licked, expecting saliva. There is none. Collapsing against the sink, I slide down the front of the cupboard until my butt is on the floor, panting and sweating. I don’t know what the heck any of that was, but I can say with absolute certainty that a ghost has never choked me out before. Gingerly touching my throat, I wince at the soreness and wonder if ghosts can leave bruises—I’ve never had one try. Not that there was opportunity—the only ghost who has ever touched me before now was Mom.
Once I catch my breath, I heave myself onto my feet, legs wobbling like I’m a newborn giraffe. I avoid looking in the mirror as I brush my teeth again, my dropped and forgotten toothbrush picked up from the sink to do the job.
Chagrinned by my response to a maniac, I trudge to my bedroom. I need to get going or I’ll be late for day two of orientation. But one thing is for certain—
A change of panties is definitely in order before I can go.