Six
MORGAN
The world is pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, Zach has left the dinner table, dessert has been served, and I'm in a happy place, talking with my cousins. I miss Amethyst the most when they're on the road, since we're the same age. But I miss all three of them.
Amethyst, Lavender, and I were my group growing up. Either that or me and my sisters. But I never really had friends outside of family. That happens when everyone knows you can talk to dead people. Even though we're by far the wealthiest family in town, that wasn't enough to make me a cool kid.
Owl Cove is roughly ten or fifteen percent witches—it fluctuates—and we're a big influence on the town. We get called the Salem of the Midwest. But that didn't mean we were accepted at school. We were definitely the weird kids.
Joke's on them. My cousins are all kicking ass and taking names .
As for me and my sisters, Sirona has her own clinic and is madly in love. Bronwen and I work for Goode Witches, and she helps people find the loves of their lives, or work on other relationships in their lives.
And me? I talk to dead people.
"That pie looks amazing," Maria says. She's sitting next to me, in Zach's vacated chair.
Because I'm feeling sassy, I take an extra-large bite of the chocolate cream pie Chessie made. It's Gary's favorite. "Ummmm, so good," I say with a mouthful of the delicious chocolate and whipped cream.
"Rude," Maria mutters.
"Taunting Maria?" Garnet asks, grinning. She pushes a strand of her hot pink hair out of her face.
Despite being named for a red gemstone, her favorite color is pink. If you give her a hard time about it, she will vehemently defend pink as a shade of red. Sometimes it's fun to needle her about that, but not tonight.
I nod at her.
"Hey, Maria," she says.
"Tell her she looks lovely tonight. The garnet necklace is beautiful."
I repeat Maria's compliment.
"Why thank you." Garnet fingers the large gemstone hanging on a silver pendant around her neck. "It was a present from..." She shrugs like it's no big deal. Which means it's a bit deal. "From someone I know."
Am I curious about this?
Nah, not tonight. So I take another burning sip of my scotch and don't ask about it.
Which is for the best, because Mom and Gary take this moment to stand on the makeshift dance floor. Mom has a microphone in one hand, her other hand linked with his.
I've had my doubts about Gary. After all, he's not my dad. And my entire life, at least that I can remember, it's just been Mom. Hell, it's just been women, besides Basil. My grandpa died when I was pretty young, and both Aunt Sarah and Aunt Betsy's husbands left town before I turned ten. I have only the vaguest memories of them. I know the Gems don't talk to their dad at all, and my other cousins only see their dad occasionally.
So bringing a man into the mix, it's weird. It upsets the dynamic I'm used to.
And I'm sure a therapist could have a field day analyzing my jumble of feelings and how it all ties in to my frustration that I can't conjure my dad. A lot of times, it feels like he’s abandoned me as much as Amethyst’s dad abandoned them.
But I sure as hell don't want to think about that right now. So I force myself to listen to Mom's little speech about how grateful they are for everyone and each other and other mushy stuff that's not my cup of tea.
Or cup of scotch, as the case may be tonight. I take a few more sips, just to keep the world fuzzy around the edges.
"And I'd like to thank my daughter, Morgan, and Gary's son, Zach, for doing most of the planning for tonight." Mom sweeps her arm in my direction while looking around, presumably trying to find Zach.
Her smile widens when she spots him. "Zach, Morgan, you both come up here."
What? No. No no no. I don't do spotlights.
I glance in the direction she's indicated Zach is, to see him strolling away from the bar and toward our parents. Which means I have to do it too.
I take another swig of the scotch—shit, that stuff is nasty—and rise from my chair. Smoothing my dress, I join Mom, Gary, and Zach in front of everyone. They're all staring at me.
I hate this. I want to squirm.
Even worse, I'm hyper-aware of Zach next to me. His soft shirt brushes my bare arm and it sends electric sparks through me. I can smell his fresh, clean scent, probably laundry detergent or deodorant. And somehow, it's a turn on. I'm oblivious to what my mom is saying, focused solely on the sexy, infuriating man next to me.
“Morgan and Zach, why don't the four of us get the dancing started?" Gary says.
My name pulls my attention away from my lust-addled brain, but it takes a moment to process what he's said.
"Dancing?" Zach echoes my confused thought.
My mom sets the microphone on a speaker, then reaches for Gary's outstretched hand. "Yes, we're going to do some dancing."
"You kids help us get the ball rolling." With that, Gary twirls my mom off to the other side of the dancefloor.
Zach and I stand next to each other, immobile.
"I—" He clears his throat. "I suppose we should do what they're asking."
I clear my throat too, for no reason other than he just did it. "Uh, sure. OK."
Dance with the man my body would happily fuck but who thinks I'm a fraud? Awesome. Just what I was hoping would happen tonight.
He holds up his hand, so I take it. His other hand comes around me and rests on my lower back. A respectful distance above my ass, which is disappointing to part of me. I ignore the way my body tingles from his touch.
Our first few steps are awkward and stiff. We're like sixth graders at our first dance. And all I can think is that he's touching me. Two places of contact, my right hand in his left, his right hand on my back. My left hand hasn't figured out where to go, so I put it on his shoulder.
Which is soft and warm and more muscular than I would've guessed. Though, if I think back to two weeks ago when I watched him—drooled over him—playing drums with no shirt, I could have guessed he's in better shape than you'd think at first glance .
"Oh for fuck's sake," I hear Bronwen mutter behind me. Right before she pushes me closer to Zach, my body bumping against his.
"What the fuck, Bronwen?"
"You're adults. This is not a middle school dance. Act like it." I hear her heels clicking on the flooring placed over the grass as she walks away.
Zach's arm slides tighter around me, gently moving me into his body. I risk looking up at him, and immediately regret it. He's staring down at me, a good six inches taller than me. In the twilight, his eyes are dark and intense.
I can't look away. I'm absolutely mesmerized. I want to climb inside those eyes and find all the answers to questions I don't even know to ask.
His lips part like he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he slicks his tongue over his lower lip. My nipples harden as heat floods my body. It's ridiculous how much I want him.
Obviously at least part of it is that it's been a long time since I've had sex. That's got to be ninety percent of it. The other ten percent is just because yes, he is damn hot.
What if he didn't have his hair pulled back. It would fall down around us, like a privacy curtain. Maybe he'd lean down and rest his forehead against mine, look even deeper into my eyes. Reach in and see my soul.
Except it already feels like he's doing that. Much as I want to, I can't look away from him. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between our bodies now. Especially where my breasts press against his chest. The way they swell up and almost overflow my neckline every time I breathe. The way my cameo pendant is perched on my cleavage.
The way his gaze momentarily drops to my necklace, then catches on my mouth before coming back to my eyes.
Zach .
My mind yearns for him. I barely keep myself from saying his name aloud. My mouth waters with a need to kiss him.
He pulls our joined hands in, resting them on his chest. Right above his pounding heart. I can just barely feel the steady rhythm.
As we move, my body brushes his just right, and lust spikes through me. He's not fully hard, but he's not relaxed either. He's as turned on by my nearness as I am by his.
I don't know what to do with this information. Like me, his attraction is clearly against his will, given what he thinks of me and my family.
But he wants me. And I want him. And we still have a wedding to plan together over the next six weeks.
This could get very complicated.
ZACH
I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed when the song ends and I have to let Morgan go. I immediately miss her warmth, the weight of her against me. The softness of her hand in mine. That softness is such a contrast to her personality, which is all sharp edges.
Her dress was soft too. Soft and slippery. It was nearly impossible to keep myself from stroking her lower back, and reaching down to cup her ass.
How can I want someone this much when I'm so appalled by who she is as a person?
One on one, she's not horrible to be around. Sure, she's grumpy. But so am I, so I can hardly hold that against a person. She's smart, and sometimes I almost enjoy talking to her.
But she's obviously deeply invested in her family's lies. And she takes it way too far, pretending a ghost follows her around.
I head to the bar to refresh my drink, which is the non-alcoholic version of the signature cocktail for the party. It's pretty good, and I wouldn't mind a little more alcohol, but I always limit myself to one drink if I'm driving. I learned early in life what a drunk driver can do to destroy a family.
My dad is occupied with Angela. Morgan, her sisters, and her cousins are all dancing in a group. I'm definitely not joining them. So I sit down at our dinner table. I do my damndest not to watch as Morgan moves her sexy body in that slinky dress. Even her bare feet are adorable, her toenails painted a deep wine color to match her dress. But it's hard to miss how she rolls her hips or wiggles her ass when she's right there in front of me.
I mean, she's a good twenty feet away. But the line of sight is there.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let myself brood for a bit. I know there's more to my dislike of my dad marrying Angela than my suspicions about their company's ethics. For whatever reason, his impending marriage makes me think a lot about my mom. More than I've thought about her in years.
It makes me think again about how I'm partially to blame for her death.
I went into science because life is chaotic and unpredictable. But science? That's orderly. You can predict what a molecule will do over and over.
Even before Mom died, I liked order.
Before I can spiral down that rabbit hole, I make myself get out of my head and instead focus on the crowd around me. The party is winding down, guests starting to engage in the endless Midwest Good-Bye ritual, where it takes everyone 45 minutes to say good-night to Dad and Angela.
I remain in my chair and watch. Every so often, I find my attention has wandered and I'm watching Morgan again. She's still moving to the music in a way that gets my cock's attention.
I'm relatively certain she noticed the effect dancing with her had on my cock. I can't decide if I care or not. It's not like we're going to do anything about it. She clearly despises me; there's no way this isn't a one-sided attraction. It already doesn't make sense for me to be into her. For it to be mutual defies all laws of logic.
Even life isn't that chaotic.
I could probably leave now. Get in my car, head home, watch some TV to cool down before I go to bed. It's only a little after nine. And my only plans tomorrow are band practice at Jose’s in the afternoon. I have time to watch a movie if I want.
But I don't move. I've drained my drink and am now just watching. I look out at the reflection of the half-moon on the lake. It's gorgeous. The sky is clear and full of stars. And for some fucking reason, I have the thought that they sparkle like Morgan's dark eyes.
Which is ridiculous. Her eyes don't sparkle so much as shoot daggers.
The DJ announces the last song. "This is a slow one, folks. So grab your partner and show some love."
My thighs tense, like I'm going to get up. But it's not like I want to dance with anyone. Sure, it would feel nice to rub up against Morgan a little more. But that's dangerous territory. And there's no way she'd want to dance with me.
I could dance with one of her sisters, though Sirona is already wrapped up with her boyfriend, Grant. And when my eyes seek out Morgan, I find her dancing playfully with Bronwen.
She's smiling.
Holy shit, she's smiling.
And it's like a kick in the gut. Her face is transformed. She's always pretty, with good hair and attractive features. But when she smiles like this? She's fucking gorgeous. Devastatingly so.
I'm dumbstruck by it and can't stop watching her. She and her sister look like they're pretending to be at a middle school dance or something, holding each other apart with stiff arms. And laughing the whole time.
Bronwen is always smiling and laughing. That doesn't faze me.
But holy shit. Morgan's smile is my new obsession. It lights up her whole face. And even from this distance, I can tell her eyes are shining. Just like the damn stars in the sky.
I close my eyes and look away. I tilt my head back and scrub my hands over my face with a groan. Why is this happening to me? Why can't it be any other person?
I need to move, so I get up and walk down to the lakeshore. In the darkness, the water is almost black, the small waves lapping at the shore.
For a moment, I imagine what it would be like to step into the water. Maybe swim out a little way and cleanse all this confusion away.
Except that’s not how it works. If water cleansed away mental stress, I'd be de-stressed every morning. Instead, I'm just hygienically clean. And often, far too often, I have to take a few minutes to jerk off while imagining Morgan. Which obviously doesn't make me feel unclean, but it does frustrate the hell out of me.
Shit. I came down to the water so I'd stop seeing her and therefore maybe stop thinking about her. But these days, it seems all mental roads lead back to her.
I spend some time doing my best not to think while skipping rocks across the water. I have no idea how much time passes, but I am aware of the sky gradually growing darker. The stars growing brighter.
"It's a gorgeous night. The deities clearly bless their marriage. "
Morgan's voice at my side makes me jump, and as a reflex, I toss the stone I'm holding. It hits the water with a thud and sinks.
"Sure, whatever."
When I look over at her, she's standing a little too close. I'm instantly aware of her nearness.
She's frowning up at me and I have a ridiculous and unwelcome urge to make her smile again. But she clearly can't stand me. I'm sure me telling her I know their company is defrauding people didn't win me any points.
She sighs, shaking her head. "Whatever. You're not worth talking to. You have the most closed mind I've ever met."
She pauses, her face screwed up in a different sort of frown. "The most closed mind of any person I've met. I haven't met your mind. That would be ridiculous."
"Are you drunk?" That sort of rambling illogical logic typically only comes from people who are drunk or high. "No judgment."
"Yeah, right. You not judging. That's almost funny." She shakes her head. "Why do you even care?"
I shouldn't. I don't. Not really.
Except I do. "Just want to make sure you aren't driving home."
"I rode my bike."
"You're planning to bike around in the dark, into a forest, while drunk?" All the Goodes live on a massive plot of land. They have separate houses, but they're all on land owned by their grandmother. It's a few miles out of town to get there, on a county highway with no lights. This seems like an unsafe plan even when sober.
"Maria will help me. I'm fine."
"Right, a ghost will help you navigate while drunk."
I should let it go. It's not like she can do damage to anyone but herself if she's on a bike. I should absolutely let this go.
I don't let it go .
"Ride home with my dad and your mom. You can get your bike tomorrow."
She makes a snorting sound that might've been a drunken sarcastic laugh. "They left." She gestures toward the now-empty party grounds. "Pretty much everyone left. I only came over to tell you, you can go home now, to be polite."
She takes a few steps away from me, then wobbles as her heel hits a small branch. I automatically reach out for her arm to steady her.
And make a decision. One I'll probably regret. But someone has to do it and it appears, aside from a few winery staff members, we're the only ones left.
Still holding her arm and ignoring how soft and smooth her skin is and how touching her sends shivers up my arm and down my spine, I steer her away from Wildflower Lake and toward the parking lot.
"I'll drive you home."
She tugs her arm away from me and I let it go, despite the urge to pull her even closer.
"I don't need you to drive me home. I'm fine !" She wobbles a little as she steps away from me.
She hiccups, and covers her mouth with her hand.
"OK, fine. I'm drunk. So what? It's a bike. I can't hurt anyone with a bike. Even an electric one." She hiccups again.
While mentally begging her not to puke, I say, "You could hurt yourself." The words surprise me as they come out. What do I care?
"What do you care?"
The question of the night. "If you get hurt, it'll upset Angela, which will upset my dad." That has to be the reason. Nothing else is logical.
She scowls, hard, and crosses her arms over her chest. Which pushes up her fabulous breasts and draws my attention to the necklace settled in her cleavage. Blood surges to my cock .
"Fine. But don't talk to me in the car."
"Gladly."
She follows me to the parking lot and I lead her to my car. As I round the back to the driver's side, she says, "Wow. Wouldn't have pegged you for an electric car guy."
We climb in, shut our doors and put on our seatbelts. "Why not?"
She shrugs, resting her head back and turning it to look at me. I risk a glance over, and nearly get caught in her shining eyes. I have to force myself to look away to start the car.
It's just a few minutes. I can handle a few minutes of her being this close, in an enclosed space, with the tension between us palpable. At least for me. She probably doesn't notice anything.
But she keeps watching me as I pull out of the lot and onto the main road through Owl Cove. It's unnerving. I can feel her gaze in the fine hairs on my neck. Feel it in the goose bumps on my arms.
"What?" I finally ask, when the tension gets to be too much to bear.
"Do you know, all the years I've been talking to dead people, which is pretty much my entire almost-twenty-nine years on this planet, my dad has never come to talk to me? Not once."
I glance over at her briefly. There's raw vulnerability in her expression and I don't know what to do with that. We aren't vulnerable with each other. It's clearly the alcohol at work here. I look away quickly, eyes back on the road. We're in the forest, trees hanging over us on either side.
"I summon him. And he doesn't come. I can summon pretty much any other dead person who ever lived. I summoned Shakespeare once, and I’ve talked to every US president and first lady. But I can’t summon the man who gave me life." Her voice cracks on the last word.
My first instinct is to reach over and give her a comforting touch. But we don't do that, so I tighten my hands on the wheel.
My second instinct is to call her on her bullshit. She doesn't talk to any dead people. And what the hell is her game, pretending to have this deep, hurting moment when we both know she's a fraud?
Righteous anger flares up inside me. "We both know you don't talk to any dead people. So give up the charade with me."
She growls—actually growls. "Fuck you. Everything we do is real. Magic is real. It's not my fault you're so ignorant."
That dig hits home. "Ignorant? Yeah, I'm so ignorant, that's why I'm working on a vaccine to prevent a common type of cancer." It's on the tip of my tongue to rattle off all my academic and professional achievements, but that's kind of douchey. And she won't care.
She blinks like she's startled. "You are?"
I can't stop looking at her. I should focus on the road, but my neck keeps turning for quick glimpses. It's maddening.
"Yes. I am. I'm a scientist. And magic and science can't coexist."
She scoffs at that. "Bullshit. You know how I know? Because they already do ."
"I'm done with this conversation." I take the turn onto Goode Lane, the road that leads to their property.
She crosses her arms like she's pouting, but I can feel her still watching me.
I do my best to ignore her as I turn onto the private road that leads to a few of their houses. The silence is charged and weighty. Uncomfortable. It's everything I can do not to squirm.
Finally, blessedly, we reach her driveway.
"You know, maybe magic is just science we haven't discovered yet. "
I don't have a response, so I don't say anything. Just put the car in park and wait for her to get out.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and sits forward. "Three hundred years ago, do you think people thought a vaccine that prevents or cures cancer was plausible? Or would they think it was magic?"
Leaving me with that thought, she climbs out of my car, shuts the door, and disappears up her front steps.
I scramble out of the car after her. I don't know why. I don't want to think about what she just said, and I'm sure she's perfectly capable of unlocking her front door by herself. Yet here I am, taking long strides over her yard and following her up the porch stairs.
She turns toward me. There's no light on, just the glow of my headlights, which point into the trees surrounding her house. She's all shadows and darkness.
I take a small step toward her, into her space. Close enough she has to tilt her head back to talk to me.
"What do you need now?"
I don't fucking know. When it comes to Morgan Goode, I have no damn clue.
Without my permission, my hand comes up and brushes a strand of that white streak of hair out of her face. I tuck it behind her ear and can't stop myself from fingering the shell of her ear. All the while, I'm looking into her eyes, which are pools of shining darkness.
What the hell am I doing?
Out of nowhere, she raises up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. They're soft and firm and my entire body goes on high alert. My cock is instantly hard, begging for me to press it against her. Delight surges through me, followed closely by powerful lust. Everything in me is screaming "yes!" to this.
But her mouth moving against mine jolts me back to reality. I lift my head and take a step back. "Morgan. We can't do this." As much as I would love to sweep her off her feet and carry her to her bed, there are a million reasons that's a terrible idea.
The number one being that she's drunk. And I sure as hell don't do that.
Staring down, she mumbles something I can't understand. I force myself not to watch her as she opens her front door. I feel a need to say something else. But no words come.
"Thanks for the ride," she mutters.
I look up in time to see her slam the front door in my face.
Yeah, that's about right.