Chapter Thirty-One #2
I didn’t hear the rest. Not really. I should’ve been listening.
I should’ve been mocking her, like I planned.
I should’ve kept my head on straight. But all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss the corner of her mouth when she said my name.
Not for the bit. Not for the drama. Not even because she was beautiful—though God, she was.
I wanted to kiss her because that empty crevice inside me felt a hell of a lot less barren when she looked at me like I wasn’t the guy stuck babysitting the mess she’d dragged in with her.
She didn’t flinch when I got quiet. Didn’t try to fix it. She stayed close.
And now here she was, sitting across from me, her hands in mine, trusting me with this weird little moment. Maybe it was nothing more than a game to her—a night of make-believe in a bar that wasn’t even open.
But for me? It was the first time in longer than I could admit that I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
That invisible string yanked at me again, the same pull that had me leaning closer, closing the space between us before I could think better of it. Through one squinted eye, she caught it and cut me a look that landed like a warning.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-hissed.
A laugh rumbled out of me. I wasn’t even sure myself. I was just trying to get close, I guess. And if she hadn’t caught me, there was a very real chance I might’ve lifted her straight out of her seat and onto the damn table.
Instead, my hand found her cheek, then drifted to her chin, my thumb catching on her lower lip.
She breathed out a quiet, toe-curling sound that stole every bit of air from the room.
Eyes still closed. Still pretending she was focused on the séance.
But I knew better. I had her—right there in that soft, electric pull of wanting.
That same hand drifted under the table, resting across her lap, draped in one of those tight, low-cut dresses she insisted on wearing as if they weren’t designed to ruin me. I half-expected her to slap my hand away. But she didn’t.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, then tugged it between her teeth. And that? That was all the permission I needed.
I eased my hand beneath the hem of her dress, eyes locked on the rise and fall of her chest as it started to quicken. Her skin was soft, warm, thighs parting ever so slightly as my fingers brushed exactly where I’d wanted to be since the second our lips crashed together.
She let her head fall back and made a sound that might’ve turned me feral—
Had a loud bang not split the air, sharp as shattered glass.
We both jolted, hearts in our throats.
But even that wasn’t enough to break the spell of my hands on her. “What the hell was that?” I asked.
We turned toward the hallway as another clatter echoed through the dark.
Nancy Reagan went ballistic—barking, spinning, full-blown poodle meltdown. She scrambled across the floor like someone had opened the gates to the seventh circle of hell.
“Nope,” I said, backing away. “Nope. I’m out.”
Tally grabbed my sleeve. “Wait—”
A gust of wind rattled the liquor bottles behind the bar. The candle flickered, then went out. Nancy howled and tried to climb a barstool, legs flailing like a deranged circus act. A crash sounded from the back room.
We both jumped. The table nearly flipped. “This has never actually worked for me before,” she whispered.
Towering over her, I shot her an alarmed look. “You mean to tell me that you think this actually worked?”
For a beat, we froze and stared at each other. Another rustle toward the back of the bar had her shooting to her feet, too. Then I shook my head slowly. “Don’t even try to explain that.”
Tally opened her mouth like she might. Then closed it again.
Silence settled around us, and I caught her face half-lit by the streetlamp outside. Her gaze flicked to mine, steady, searching. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. But whatever was in her expression kept me rooted in place when every other instinct said run.
And then the hallway door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light from the street.
“OOOOooooOOOoooo—!”
A thud echoed throughout the bar, followed by the scrape of a chair leg and a burst of muffled laughter.
“Shit, I tripped on my sheet!” Magnolia stage-whispered, her voice carried on the rustle of fabric.
Sutton’s unmistakable wheeze-laugh cut through the dark, the kind of laugh that made you want to join in even if you didn’t know the joke.
“Why are we whispering?” Sutton managed between gasps. “They already know we’re ghosts!”
More stumbling. More laughter. “OH MY GOD, I’M GONNA PEE!”
We both turned just as Magnolia came barreling into the room, swallowed up in a white sheet that clung and twisted around her like she’d lost a fight with a haunted laundry basket.
Her hair stuck out in a dozen directions, eyes wide and unblinking, and whatever she was going for, it definitely wasn’t ghostly restraint.
Sutton stumbled in behind her, hiccuping laughter spilling out of her as she clutched the trailing edge of Magnolia’s sheet—more like it was dragging her along than the other way around.
The two of them looked less like spirits and more like drunk bridesmaids who’d wandered off from a bachelorette party and decided to haunt the bar out of pure spite.
I reached for the nearest thing within arm’s length—the salt—and lobbed it across the room.
Nancy went nuclear, barking like we were under a full-blown attack.
Magnolia yelped and pitched forward, hitting the floor with a hollow thud that rattled the floorboards. Sutton tripped over her, both of them collapsing into a heap of tangled fabric and limbs, shrieking with laughter until they could barely breathe.
I froze, caught somewhere between laughing and bolting for the door. Across from me, Tally’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide and glinting in the dim light. And for a moment—long enough for me to feel it in my chest—I swore she was going to kiss me again.
But then Magnolia groaned from the floor, flinging an arm over her face. “Well? Did we scare the spirits out of you or what?”
I let out a slow breath and tore my eyes away from Tally. “I don’t know about the spirits,” I said. “But I think the mood is officially dead.”