by Brindi Quinn
Still, the nasty, gruesome, so-not-welcome memory lingers – the ripping, the pushing, the forcing – and I can’t help but ask, “W-what are you doing, Pine?”
At my mention of his name, Pine’s silver eyes light around his pupils.
“What do you desire, Marley?”
Desire.
There’s that word again! And again, how am I supposed to think of something ‘desirable’ when there’s something so distracting right in front of me? I feel the temperature of my neck rising embarrassingly high. Oh gawd, I hope it doesn’t show! What if my neck’s turning red at this very minute? Like one of those nervous, blotchy people?
My neighbor’s like that, you know. Anytime someone asks him a direct question, his neck starts getting all red and patchy and he looks totally suspicious. I’m guessing he has a guilty conscience, but I’ve never been able to think of what he could’ve done. Now that I think about it, he does kind of seem the type to have someone locked in his basement . . .
Whatever.
Back to Pine.
In the absence of an answer, the sexy reaper asks again,
“What do you desire, Marley? What does your soul desire?”
I can’t take it. His stare’s too intense for me to handle. His voice is too steady, too. If he keeps probing me with his eyes like that, I’ll definitely pop like an overblown balloon! And I’ll probably make that gross farting noise while I zoom around the room, too. It’ll only end with my deflated body hitting Jonathan Taylor Thomas in the face, at last alerting the reapers that I ever even owned a poster like that in the first place! And then they’ll probably make fun of me because that was SO before my time, to which I’ll counter by saying that cuteness never fades and then they’ll think I’m just the worst, worst, worst girl they’ve every reaped.
Just. Great.
“Stop thinking,” Pine demands.
Right. Okay. Anything you say.
Even my inner-monologue turns breathless.
Without lifting his glowing stare, he brings his face closer to mine, closer, closer, until his mouth is inches from mine and I can feel the warmth of him settling in-between us.
My breath comes unevenly. My skin twitches and I feel unnaturally aware of myself – where my hand is placed, which of my arm hairs are standing, how often I blink.
Pine’s presence is exciting. I want him to take me. Somewhere. Anywhere. On an adventure. Just take me.
“Now,” he says, mouth nearly to mine, “tell me what you desire.”
This time, I don’t even have to think about the answer. “You,” I say.
“No fair!” says a voice someplace far away.
. . . Oh yeah. That’s Minx.
For the second time since meeting him, Pine grins. I know because I’m watching his mouth very carefully, to see if it’ll make contact with mine.
It doesn’t.
After the grin, Pine releases my face, removes his hand from the small of my back, and steps away. While I fall victim to my own thudding heart, which is so obnoxiously loud in my ears, Pine glances around the room.
“Much better,” he says.
Still recovering from the too-hot-to-handle encounter, I look to see what he’s talking about. The locker and bed and this-and-thats of my old life are gone. In their place . . .
Whoa.
I grab onto Pine because it feels like I’m going to fall, and even after I realize that’s not going to happen, I still hold onto him for support because my mind refuses to believe I’m safe. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room have been replaced with glass, and if that glass weren’t vaguely showing our reflections, I wouldn’t even be able to tell it was there!
But how?
While Pine came near to kissing me, the room transformed – or something – into a glass box – a glass box that’s somehow outside EVEN THOUGH we were just deep within the aquarium a minute ago.
Again, whoa.
The sky out there is blue. Bluer than blue, even, and painted with rows of white cloud. Cottony, the clouds stretch all across the sky in dragging puffs of white. Below us, and as far as the eye can see, jagged, piney landscape covers the ground.
Well, I say below, but below doesn’t really cut it.
That’s because our glass room is high, high up in the air, you see. That’s the reason I feel so queasy and unbalanced – that’s why, even now, I’m gripping to Pine for support. Not that I really mind touching him at all.
Don’t look down, Marley Craw. Whatever you do, don’t look . . . damn and a half!
I looked down.
Way, waaaaay below us, green tips of land peak here and there.
But the biggest peak of all is right at my feet.
No. Way.
“Hold on!” I hold Pine’s chest for support. “Are we balanced on top of a mountain!?”
“Mm,” says Pine.
Minx mutters something beneath his breath. Whatever it is, it sounds like denial. Arms folded, he leans against one of the see-through corners and frowns.
“This is a trick, right? Like some weird reapery mind thing?”
“This is what you desire most, Marley,” Pine says.
“For now,” Minx adds, sour.
What I desire most is . . . to be inside a glass room sitting on top of a mountain? That doesn’t sound like me. I mean, I don’t even really like outdoorsy things at all. This one time I had to go camping – don’t even ask me why. Okay, fine, go on and ask. It was for Campfire Girls of all things. My dad wanted me to learn how to build a fire from a flint or something rustic like that, but I just kept thinking that I’d never really need a fire because our house had a furnace, and anyway, I went along with it, but I didn’t sleep at all that night because something in the woods – probably Bigfoot – kept making this noise that was too ferocious to be a chipmunk. Not to mention there was this stick under the tent and somehow it kept finding its way under my – oh never mind.
“Is something wrong, Marley Craw?”
I’ve been zoning out and Minx is no longer in the corner. Now, he’s standing next to Pine, head tipped with concern.
“Is Bigfoot real?” I ask.
“Huh?” says Minx.
“You know: Bigfoot . . . Sasquatch . . . Big smelly bear-man?”
Minx blinks. “It has big feet?”
“Oh never mind.” He clearly doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “And anyway, what do you mean this is what I ‘desire’? It’s my desire to be on top of a mountain?”
Minx frowns at the floor. “. . . Something like that.”
The corner of Pine’s mouth gives a slight twitch.
Oh hell. I remember now! I definitely said that what I desired most was . . . Pine. With that in mind, I pull away from him, very slooowly. Maybe if I do it slowly, he won’t realize that I was clinging to him in the first place.
Seeing the open ground makes me woozy all over again, though. I make my fists tight and look to the ceiling for comfort.
“Okay, neat trick, guys, but I’m ready to go now.”
Minx’s ears prick. He looks up from the floor. “Go?”
“It’s not like I’m afraid of heights or anything, but this isn’t just ‘heights.’ This is the HIGHEST of HEIGHTS! I remember this one time my not-friend, Amy Jo, dared me to ride the Killer Dragon Coaster at the amusement park, which had this super high, fall-till-you-cry drop, and I was like, ‘Psh, I don’t need to prove anything to you,’ even though I totally did need to prove something to her, so I rode the thing and I swear I felt my dingle ball hit my brain.”
“Dingle ball?” says Pine.
I open my mouth and point to the back of my throat where the . . . the dingle ball hangs. “Anyway, that was like the bunny hill compared to this. You guys expect us to stay here for two weeks?”
“Ah.” Minx’s face lights up into a bright, mischievous smile. “Did you hear that?” He smirks at Pine. “Marley Craw isn’t comfortable here.”
Before I can say anything, the gloating reaper grabs my
shoulders from behind and yanks me away from Pine, pulling me into himself so that my back is flush against his body.
Pine doesn’t approve. “Tch. Dumbass,” he mutters.
Minx wraps his arms around my chest and sets his chin atop my head. He’s a lot taller than me, so it feels natural like that.
“Minx, what are you–”
“Shhh.”
My thudding heart starts up at once. Not wasting any time, eh, heart? Not even going to give me a second to breathe, eh, bloody thing?
“Close your eyes, Marley Craw,” Minx commands.
Sure, but only because the view is daunting.
And only because Minx’s grip is melting.
And only because . . .
“You’re a new spirit, Marley Craw. You’re impressionable. Let me impress upon you.”
. . . Impress upon? Sounds heart-stoppingly close to press upon. A whole slew of dirty thoughts flashes across my mind. It doesn’t help that I can feel Minx’s belt buckle through the back of my ugly smock. It doesn’t help that one of Minx’s hands has moved from my chest and is now sweeping the hair from my shoulder. It doesn’t help that his chin is no longer resting on my head, but moving towards my now-exposed neck. It doesn’t help that the whole experience of being restrained by him is pushing me to a place on the edge of dream.
With the warmth of Minx’s mouth dangerously close to my exposed neck, the soothing-turned-mischievous reaper asks me a question I’ve heard several times already:
“What do you desire, Marley Craw?”
His body is warm behind my back. I feel his chi, even though we’re separated by layers of matronly fabric and black hoodie. Chi. . . . Is that right? Whatever it is – his energy or mojo or vibes – I feel them rippling through his body into mine.
Thud. Thud. THUD!
It didn’t take long at all for my pulse to reach annoying new heights. HEIGHTS. There’s that word again. Even now, we’re balancing atop a mountain I somehow summoned with Pine. Even now . . .
“You don’t need to think about that,” says Minx. And his breath warms my neck.
Too sexy. Too, TOO sexy.
How the hell is it that I’m getting more action dead than I ever did alive?
Dead.
I’m dead. Dead as a deadbolt dead.
“Minx?”
His body gives a small jolt. I imagine his eyes have probably turned red again.
“Hm?”
“How long have I been dead?”
His body gives another jolt, but this time it’s more rigid than the first. Whoops. I feel like I probably shouldn’t have asked that for some reason. It’s just . . . it sort of feels like I’m very recently dead . . . but also like I’ve been dead for a very long time.
“You don’t need to ask that, Marley Craw.” Minx squeezes me tighter, making me inhale sharply.
“Just Marley’s fine,” I say. But my voice is all shaky.
It’s his dominance or something.
“What do you want, Marley Craw?” One of Minx’s hands is moving down my abdomen. The other still resides tightly across my chest.
My neck flares with heat. Oh gawd! If his mouth ever makes contact with my skin, I’ll burn him for sure!
So. Not. Smooth.
His hand is moving lower, lower–
Drat! If only I was wearing something sexier than this stupid smock. It’s got to feel like he’s caressing a freaking nun.
Lower, lower . . .
Wait, just how low does he intend to go!? . . . And why aren’t I stopping him? It’s totally ridiculous. I only just met him today, right?
Or have I been dead for a long, long time already?
I can’t tell because it feels like I’m tightrope-walking along the edge of dream. If I teeter too much to one side, I just know I’ll fall in.
My stomach hiccups at the place where Minx’s hand is. Ah! I bet he felt it, too! Beneath my smock my body fumbles because it doesn’t know what to do. Stomachs aren’t usually touched so sensually. Well, mine isn’t, at least.
His hand slides low – almost too low – until it’s at the bottom of my stomach. That’s where the reaper’s slipping finally stops – and he whispers,
“What do you desire, Marley Craw?”
His voice is different than before. Before, when he told me to ‘cuddle’ him, he sounded longing. Now, he’s . . .
I called it.
Minx is naughty.
My arm, dangling at my side, grabs a gathering of his pant leg. I crush the jean material beneath my fist.
“What do you want?” he asks, toyingly.
“Yo–”
Really, Marley Craw? You’re going to succumb to him? Just like that? Go me. Some willpower I’ve got there. Then again, willpower doesn’t do much good when the temptation’s this strong.
Again, no wonder I didn’t get into Heaven.
Minx’s lips make contact with my neck. It’s not a full-blown kiss, though. If it were, I’d probably implode or explode or corrode. Lucky for everyone involved, it’s more like a graze. “Say what you want most,” Minx coaxes.
“To sleep,” my mouth tells him.
His hand starts to slip again.
“With you,” I add.
His mouth opens against my neck.
“. . . And Pine.”
He stops. “Are you sure about that?” The question is muffled by my neck.
“I think so.”
Minx pulls his mouth away but doesn’t release me. “Why?” he says, and his voice isn’t toying any longer. “Why him?” It isn’t that he sounds hurt at all, just genuinely confused . . . and a little curious.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
Minx’s mouth moves to my ear. “Marl–”
“Give it a rest,” says a voice far, far away. “That’s as much as you’re going to get. It’s still early.”
“But with you, she–”
“I cheated,” the far away voice says. “I went first.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Disheartened, Minx slowly releases me, but I don’t want him to. I cling to his arm as it pulls away.
“I can’t have you yet, Marley Craw,” he says into my ear, “but I will.”
I was under a spell.
That much becomes clear to me the moment Minx’s arm slips away.
Goober! It happened again: I was a complete goober.
I whirl to face him. Well, he’s still hotter than hot, but there’s no way I’d say that stuff so openly!
“I hope you know I didn’t mean SLEEP with you! I meant sleep with you.”
Forehead slap. That doesn’t really make it better.
Minx tips his head. “What else would you mean besides sleep?” he asks, brow bent.
“I . . . uh . . .” Seriously!? After all that seductiveness?
“Ignore him,” says Pine. The dark-haired reaper looks bored, resting his cheek in his hand and staring out the window absently. But he also looks annoyed – like he’s forcing himself to look out there. Well, I can’t really blame him. How awkward would it be to watch Minx and me going on like that?
Ohmigosh. I just realized something.
What if I’m . . . a slut?
Okay, next time one of those guys starts putting on the moves, I’m going to resist. Got that? I’ll resist.
“At least it worked,” says Minx, looking past me.
What worked?
Oh!
I was so focused on the reapers that I didn’t notice.
The floor of the glass room is filled in with carpet, hiding the mountain below. Now, it’s a nice, safe, solid-looking floor. And portions of the walls have filled in, too. The windows still gape across the room, showing off the momentous landscape beyond, but tiny slivers of wall reassure that I’m not going to fall out into space if I get too close.
The room is no longer empty, either. There are a few pieces of homey-looking furniture scattered around – all dangling from the ceiling for some reason, suspended by bungee
-type cords. A vintage fridge, a carved rocker, and a wooden coatrack all hover just over the ground. They’re the kind of things you’d find at a lodge or something.
And one huge addition:
There’s a couch.
An enormous, plushy-looking couch, filled with pillows and wide enough to sleep on, has appeared along the far wall – the only piece of furniture not dangling.
So there’s a couch but no beds? Then, are we ALL supposed to sleep on that together for the next two weeks? Well, I can’t say that would be horrible.
Geez, Marley Craw! Am I a pervert now? I’m pretty sure I wasn’t a pervert when I was living, but who can say how death changes the soul?
Yeah right. That’s a load of garbage. If I’d met Pine and Minx while alive, I’m sure I’d have turned into a pervert then, too.
“Do you guys even sleep?” I ask, eyeing the couch.
Minx studies my face with interest. “Yes,” he says.
Pine shakes his head. “But we don’t need to. And neither do you . . . anymore.”
“You don’t know that,” says Minx. In a rapid shift of attitude, his eyebrow twerks disapprovingly at Pine.
“Tch.”
Then, Minx backs against the couch and opens his arms to me. “Come here, Marley Craw.”
For the millionth time, my stomach drops because he’s just too playful, too longing, too desirable.
“MARLEY is fine,” I say, trying to play cool.
Minx looks to Pine before responding. For permission? Maybe. Pine nods at him sternly.
“Marley.” Minx tugs teasingly at the zipper of the black hoodie. “Cuddle me.”
Chapter 4: The Name of the Game
Sometimes, people tell me I look like a tennis player, and I don’t really know what to say. I don’t know – maybe it’s because I dress a little preppily that they think that way. It sure the hell isn’t because of my agility or skill or any other similar attributes, I can tell you that much. When it comes to sports of any kind, I’m the worst. Quick footwork? Please. Hand-eye coordination? Not so much. And if you haven’t figured it out already, I’m also not what you’d call academic, so my outsides don’t match my insides at all. Not one little bit. That’s okay, it’s fun to surprise the assumers with my lack of poise.
