TBR: Dead But Well Read

Chapter One

S trolling through the library, I smiled at the patrons who slouched on the couches, completely engrossed in their books. The whisper of pages being turned, and the faint clicking coming from the computers lining the far wall, were the only sounds to be heard.

It was a relief since my ears were still ringing from the weekly children’s story time that had finished less than an hour before. With a smile, I bent and pushed in several books that had been pulled out by Kyle, one of the more energetic children.

Story hour was a weekly event, and chaos was guaranteed when the library doors flew open and the group of kids rushed inside, dragging their frazzled parents behind them. You’d think we’d be used to it by now, but every week we would stand in openmouthed shock as an army of squealing kids tore through the library like tiny Tasmanian devils who’d devoured twenty pounds of raw sugar before their arrival.

I loved when the kids visited and broke up the monotony of my week, but I couldn’t deny I also experienced a sense of relief when they left and the library’s peaceful silence was restored.

Glancing up at the large clock, I grinned. There was only an hour until closing. That was when all the patrons would be shooed from the building, and I could stretch out on my favorite olive-green leather sofa in the middle of the library with my latest read. Until then, I’d go hideout in the archive room and read a few chapters while I waited for the library to be all mine.

I headed toward the librarians busy re-shelving books.

“Did you notice Dr. Gerland’s wedding band was missing today?” Bertha whispered loudly enough that two patrons glanced up from their books.

Tilly nodded her head. “I certainly did. You know, none of the ladies at Monday night’s book club meeting have seen his wife in town in the past month. Agatha heard that Mrs. Gerland went to help her sick sister in Wisconsin. Maybe she decided to divorce him?”

“I wouldn’t blame her. The single women in this town have increasingly questionable morals, and he works with them every day of the week.” Bertha clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Just yesterday, one of the nurses checked out a monster romance. Can you imagine?”

Tilly gasped as Bertha continued. “How is an attractive man like Dr. Gerland supposed to resist if one of those young nurses set their sights on him and use the wickedness from those books to tempt him? Mrs. Gerland is probably saving herself the inevitable embarrassment of her husband having an affair.”

I rolled my eyes. Or he had simply gained a few pounds and had to have his ring resized, and he’d used his bonus to pay for his wife to go to a spa retreat with her best friend because he appreciated how she’d tirelessly supported him over the years. It was amazing what you could pick up from one-sided phone calls.

Turning sideways, I squeezed between the two gossips. Neither woman gave me so much as a nod of acknowledgment, but I didn’t mind. I’d always been on the introverted side, but over the last three years, I’d become downright antisocial. No longer being subjected to tedious small talk was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I was living every bookworm’s dream. No longer having to worry about keeping a job to get a paycheck, no stressing over where I was going to live, and no wasted time trying to decide what I was going to eat.

Nope. For the last three years, I’d been free to spend my days and nights reading to my heart’s content.

Even so, my to-be-read list was still about fifteen miles long. I really felt for the incredible women who were trying to keep up with an actual life, advance their careers, grow a family, and still managed to whittle away at their Tbrs. They were doing the impossible.

Heck! I was beginning to have serious doubts about whether I’d ever make it through my list, and I was lucky enough to be able to focus all of my attention on reading. It had become a full-time job.

I might be dead, but I’d never give up on my to-be-reads.

“Dead, but well read” had become my afterlife’s motto.

I made my way down the dark hallway, walking by several storage rooms, before finally reaching the archive room. Without stopping, I strode through the closed door into the dark room.

Unbothered by the dust and ancient cobwebs, I walked through a large spiderweb that had been abandoned by its owner. I could walk through spider webs, roll in dust, and never get dirty or end up sneezing. It was my second favorite ability—second only to not needing to worry about adulting.

Yep. Being a ghost came with some amazing perks.

The only time I could touch things on the earthly plane was when I gathered a surge of energy. That had proven challenging at first, and to my endless frustration, I’d been stuck reading over people’s shoulders. I was a speed reader, so waiting for someone to turn the page was a special kind of torture.

But with stubborn determination, I’d learned how to move small items like books. And eventually, after countless hours of practice, I’d gained enough finesse to turn pages.

Better yet, with each passing year, it had grown easier to touch things, and I found myself less exhausted afterward. In the past six months, I’d even learned how to work the computers so I could borrow books from other libraries in our system. Unfortunately, that had caused my Tbr list to nearly triple in length.

The archive room was dark, but that wasn’t an issue for me since I could see as well in the dark as I could in the light.

I glanced around at the six-foot-tall shelves mounted against three of the archive room’s walls. Each shelf was stuffed with large leather-bound books that looked like they belonged at Pigworts Academy, rather than the back room of a small-town library.

When I’d first claimed the room as my bedroom, I’d tried to open a few of the volumes to see what was inside, but they’d been too heavy, and my energy had been exhausted by the strain.

Hmmm. Maybe I should try again…

I would. But not tonight.

Walking to the back of the room, I floated from the ground, rising toward the ceiling. On top of the wide shelf, far above the librarians’ line of sight, folded stacks of thick brocade curtains that had once adorned the library’s windows were folded neatly and stored on top. It wasn’t the plush pillow-top mattress I’d owned while alive, but it gave me the illusion of sleeping on a decently comfortable bed.

Reaching the top of the shelf, I stopped short at the two dark eyes staring into mine.

Squeak!

“ Wasabi! ” I yelped, clutching at my chest. “We’ve already talked about this. I’m the ghost and the only one who should be doing the scaring around here.”

The dove-gray rat twitched his nose, looking decidedly unapologetic and almost amused.

Jerk.

Shooing him from the middle of my bed, I drifted down on the fabric. With a happy little hop, he moved to my side and curled into an adorable ball beside me.

I summoned a small burst of energy and scratched behind his tiny ear. His fur was soft against my ghostly finger, and I couldn’t help but smile when he tilted his head to give me better access.

“You know you shouldn’t be out in the library during the day,” I scolded. “If Mrs. Sourpants sees you again, she’s going to call the exterminator.”

Wasabi cracked open one eye as if to say, you think I’m worried? before closing it again.

I really wished he could talk to me, but apparently communicating with animals wasn’t a ghostly perk. With my only friend—and the only being who knew I still existed—cuddled beside me, I sighed and reached for the book I’d started that morning.

A half-hour later, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. I stiffened, craning my head to hear better.

Odd.

No one came to this side of the library unless they were planning to dig out the Christmas decorations that were stored in the room across from the archive room. And since it was March, that couldn’t be the reason.

The door handle turned, the hinges shrieking in protest as the door opened. At the shock of the ear-splitting noise, I jumped and nearly threw my book.

What the heck, Ax? Your ghost game is seriously slipping if you’re getting spooked twice in the same hour.

My nose wrinkled in thought. Did ghosts even have game? And why did I have to spend my life after death with my kind-of-mean inner monologue? I could say with certainty that there would be no resting in peace—or peace at all—as long as my inner critic was still alive and well in my head.

Besides, was jumping out and saying, “boo!” part of a ghost’s job description? I had no clue. When I died, no one had been waiting to welcome me to my ghosthood with a handshake and a job manual.

The overhead light flickered and emitted a high-pitched hum. Grinding my teeth, I narrowed my eyes at the newcomer, then my jaw dropped.

Sweet and salty chicken balls! This guy was all man… in all the best ways!

His raven hair was shaved short on the sides, but had been left longer on the top, and it fell to one side of his angular face as he ducked through the doorway. Dark stubble ran along his jawline, giving him the rough, yet alluring, look of a man who was too busy dealing with dangerous crap to worry about his appearance.

The guy strode to the stack of books and swiped away the cobweb that stretched across the rows. His finger trailed down the dusty spines as he searched for the book he wanted, giving me a wonderful view of his profile.

He was the type of man who was featured as the main love interest in the paranormal romances that made up most of my Tbr. Raising myself on my elbow, I studied every line of the man’s face and body. The next time I needed to imagine the face of a sexy, brooding alpha male, I wanted to be able to call this man to mind.

“Are you going to say something? Or just stare at me like you’ve never seen a man before?” the guy said, his eyes never leaving the shelf.

Thinking I’d been so caught up in his looks that I hadn’t noticed someone else enter, I quickly scanned the room, searching for whoever he was speaking to. There was no one, other than Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy, Wasabi the rat, and me.

But no one could see me, so who was he talking to?

The man pulled a book from the shelf, then lifted his gaze and stared directly at me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched.

“You can see me?” I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t see or hear me. “That’s not possible.”

Only Wasabi and the occasional gifted child had been able to see me.

“Of course I can.” The man leaned back against the shelf and flipped open the book, sending a cloud of dust billowing out around him.

I glanced down at the book in my hand, weighing my burning desire to finish the current chapter against my curiosity to speak to someone for the first time in three years.

Deciding an opportunity like this might not come around again in my afterlife, I reluctantly closed my book and pushed myself up into a sitting position.

“But how?” I asked, drifting down to the floor. “I’m a ghost and humans can’t see me.”

“Simple.” The man shrugged, not bothering to look up from the heavy volume. “I’m not fully human.”

“Then what are you?” I stepped closer to the man, something I never would have done when I was living and timid as a mouse.

I’m dead, so I have nothing to fear. He can’t lay a finger on me. Which is unfortunate, since I want him to lay more than just a finger on me…

Huh. It seemed that in death, my inner voice had grown a spine. I’d certainly never been bold enough to approach a guy while alive, and definitely not one who looked like he could take on a grizzly without breaking a sweat.

Yep, my preferred type of men had always been book boyfriends… the type of guys who were confined to the pages of a romance.

“I’m a collector.” His piercing gray eyes locked on my face, studying me as I stepped into the light.

“Collector? Like, antiques?” Far be it from me to judge a book by its cover, but he didn’t fit the mold of an antique dealer. “Or do you collect money from terrified people for a mafia boss, and if they can’t pay, you turn them into ghosts like me?”

“Neither.” The deep timbre of his voice added to the edge of danger that rolled off him. He changed the topic. “How long have you been a ghost?”

The man was tall enough I had to tilt my head up to look at him. Letting my curiosity win, I floated up until we were at eye level.

Sugar honey iced tea! He was even more perfect up close.

Well, it was decided; I’d definitely have naughty thoughts about him later. Being dead had killed my sex life, but it didn’t stop me from imagining it in my dreams.

Realizing I hadn’t answered his question, I shrugged. “Three years, give or take a few weeks. Time begins to run together after a while.”

For the first time, the man looked taken aback, and his eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I snorted and lowered myself back to the floor. “Uh, yes. I’m pretty sure I remember how long it’s been since I kicked the proverbial bucket. Death is considered a fairly important milestone in most people’s lives.”

Slowly, as though afraid of spooking a wild animal, the man lifted his hand toward my face. If I’d still been a card-carrying member of the living, I would’ve darted out of the room like a bat out of Hades. But being dead had done wonders for both my dry skin and my confidence.

Holding the breath I didn’t actually need, I waited to see what he would do. After all, he couldn’t physically touch me, let alone hurt me.

Boy oh boy, was I wrong.

His fingers brushed my cheek, and I shivered at the heat of his warm skin against my ghostly face.

This was impossible.

He shouldn’t be able to touch me. Even with my dazzling ghostly party tricks, I hadn’t been able to touch a living human’s skin.

The overhead light flickered and hummed, but I barely noticed as electricity sizzled through his fingers. It surged through me, heating me from the inside out before finally returning to him.

“You can touch me?” My voice cracked. “I… I don’t understand.”

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and pressed my palm to his cheek. There was another pop of static and heat poured into my body from where our skin met.

“I live my life crossing between the planes of this world and the other. I can interact with you the same way I can interact with humans,” he answered almost absently, his fingers slowly tracing my jaw. “You are just as alive to me as the people sitting in the library.”

My eyes went to his lips, and I blamed the years spent reading romance for the direction my thoughts took. But since he could touch my face, I couldn’t help but wonder what other things he could do.

“How’d you die?” The guy took a step closer until our faces were only inches apart.

Ha! Like I was going to tell him the truth. Not a chance in this life—er, death. “I got run over by Santa’s sleigh.”

“What?” His brow creased, and he blinked as he tried to process my words. Then he barked out a strangled laugh. “Santa isn’t real.”

I gave him a cheeky grin. “And neither are ghosts.”

The gorgeous giant laughed, the sound husky and rough, as though he didn’t use it much.

As though it had a mind of its own, my hand shifted, and my thumb slid across his bottom lip. I was being drawn to this guy like a hungry moth to an ugly Christmas sweater.

“You’re beautiful,” the man whispered, the mirth in his eyes being replaced by something dark and alluring.

I blew out a breathy laugh, trying to drag my wits back to me. “Yeah, if sweatpants-for-life girls are your type.”

When I first started living the easy-breezy-ghost-girl life, I’d spent countless hours learning to visualize and finally swap my outfits. But after a while, I realized no one could see me, so why bother?

And for the past two years, I’d opted to stay in my favorite sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and an oversized white T-shirt. They didn’t get dirty, and I didn’t sweat, so they stayed clean. It was another ghostly perk.

I finished my look with a messy bun to keep my long hair out of my face—and to avoid looking like a certain unkempt and soaking wet ghost chick that scared the crap out of, well, everyone. The last thing I needed was for a kid to see me looking like that and convince the adults to perform an exorcism. I had no idea if it would work, but it was bound to cut into my reading time.

He shook his head at my words and caught my chin between his fingers. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.” His lips moved toward mine.

Holy hollyhocks!

Was he about to kiss me?

Was I about to let him?

After only a moment of hesitation, I tilted my head back, giving him better access to my mouth.

Just as our lips were about to touch, the library’s intercoms crackled and I jerked back, clutching at my no-longer-beating heart as though I might have a heart attack.

It was another reminder that I was far too jumpy for a ghost.

A metallic voice announced, “The library is closing shortly. Please bring your books to the front to be checked out. Thank you.”

“You should probably go.” I backed away from him, not liking the feeling of loss that welled up in my chest as I said the words.

What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have felt anything over this stranger at all.

He took a step toward me, and suddenly afraid of the pull I felt toward him, I released my ghostly body and allowed myself to become one with the shadows.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able to see me in this form.

Maybe he would leave before he messed up the perfect death I had going for myself.

“I’ll come back.” His eyes scanned the darkness, searching for me.

When I didn’t answer, he returned the book to the shelf. Striding to the door, he flicked off the light and was gone.

Wasabi’s twitching nose appeared at the edge of the shelf, sniffing in my direction. Calling my energy back, I put my ghost form back together.

“I have no freaking idea what just happened,” I whispered, reaching up to scratch his ear.