by Layla Frost
“Damn. When I didn’t hear from you, I was hoping…”
“Nope, no wild Afternoon Delight sex. I stopped at the bookstore then grabbed some groceries before coming home.” I put my newest purchases on a shelf in my mostly empty library.
Like any time I thought of my grandma’s books, stabbing pain ripped at my heart. My chest tightened, my lungs refusing to take in air.
I rushed from the room and down the small hall before finally being able to take a deep breath.
“How bad was it?” Lula asked.
It took me a moment to realize she was asking about my date, and not the mini freak-out I’d just had. “Boring. Not as bad as the one a couple days ago, thankfully. But still, Lula, I thought I was gonna fall asleep.”
“Boring would never work for you. What happened a couple days ago?”
“Another coffee date gone so wrong. We met picking up Chinese takeout, which I thought was a good sign. Compatible, you know?”
She laughed. “Because you two are the only people in existence who enjoy Chinese food?”
“Shut up. It was my damn optimism and my cheery fucking disposition.”
“I can tell. So, what happened?”
“When he asked me out, he told me about this ‘mind-blowing’ coffee.”
“Okay?”
“It was Dunkin’.”
“Wow. I mean, New Englanders do love their Dunkin’.”
“I know. But he kept going on and on about how it was so great and how much better it was than any other coffee in the history of coffee. According to him, the only reason people drank Starbucks was so they could show off the logo on the cup. It was cult-ish.”
“That’s crazy, but definitely not that bad.”
Curling up on the cushioned bench of the bay window, I leaned my head against the cool glass. “It gets worse. When I asked him what he did for a living, strictly making conversation, he went off. Honestly, it was nothing short of a diatribe against women. He claims we only care about money and finding a loaded husband.”
“Did he look flashy rich? Or maybe, you know, the opposite? He could’ve been insecure.”
“Being insecure wouldn’t excuse him from that level of dickery. But, no, not flashy but not poor. He was wearing name brand stuff, which made his rant against showing off expensive logos extra-bizarre.”
“Was he, like, so ridiculously hot he was used to getting away with shit like that?”
“He looked… like a preppy frat boy.” I paused before summing him up. “He was frattractive.”
“Eww.”
Sighing, I added, “He wasn’t my type, but he was still cute. And I’m in no position to be picky.” I closed my eyes. “I’m going to die without ever having sex again, Lula.”
I’d always loved sex. Even the meh sex I’d had was still pretty good. Solo sex was always banging since I knew what I liked. I’d been lucky. Since I was raised by a dad so uptight, Catholic nuns thought he should relax, I could’ve ended up living a repressed life.
“You’re so dramatic,” she said, and I could almost hear the eye roll in her tone.
“I’m serious. In fact, I think my virginity is growing back,” I shared. “I’ve burned through two vibrators this month.”
Someone is here.
My eyes snapped open to look around the room, but I was alone.
I was always alone.
Shaking my head, I rubbed where the hairs stood on the back of my neck.
You’ve been in this house for five months. Relax.
When I’d been lucky enough to see my grandma, she’d regale me with tales of all the various ghosts and spirits that haunted her neighborhood. I hadn’t believed in ghosts when she’d told me, nor did I at that moment…
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally spook myself.
After all, if any town were a beacon for the afterlife, Salem—home of the infamous witch trials—would be it.
“It’s not that bad,” Lula tried.
“No, you’re right. It’s worse. I can’t show my face in any of the adult stores in the area because I’ve bought so many vibrators lately. I had to switch to ordering them online, and I hate that. It’s so impersonal. I don’t get the chance to feel a connection to my new battery-operated boyfriend.”
“You really need to get laid.”
I threw my arm out in vindication. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s not like I’m going to town on myself for hours a day, but they keep breaking.”
“Really? I’ve had silicone Idris for like five years. Other than running through batteries, he’s working great.”
“I know, which is why I bought an Idris. Well, mine was a silicone Jason Momoa. Then it was garbage because it stopped working after a week.”
“Weird. It’s like you’re—”
“Cursed? I know, I totally am.” Closing my eyes again, I thought about my failed dates. “He didn’t like my Mystery Science Theater shirt.”
“Jason Momoa?”
“No. Dunkin’ guy.”
“Oh. Even if he was great, that alone would be a deal breaker.”
“That’s when I ended the date. Just stood and walked out, leaving the coffee on the table. I think that was the part that upset him most.”
Lula laughed. “Good, he deserved some pain.”
“I’m swearing off dating.”
“I can’t say I blame you, though that’s certainly not going to help the whole vibrator thing.”
“Maybe I can buy them in bulk. Or one of those monthly mystery boxes that are all the rage now. I can subscribe to a ‘Dildo of the Month Club’ kind of thing.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing,” she pointed out.
Ignoring the weird feeling at the back of my neck, I shrugged as though she could see me. “I’ll draw up a plan for a new business then. That wouldn’t be an awkward loan meeting, right?”
“There will be plenty of lawyers at the party on Friday, maybe consult one of them. Unless your new dating policy applies to our already scheduled date?”
I smacked my forehead. “The party. I totally forgot.”
Chase had won some award at the law firm where he worked. There was going to be a cocktail party and dinner to honor the winners from the various firms in the area.
“I know you’re approaching a deadline,” Lula said, “so if you can’t…”
“No, no. Two days is plenty of time to get it done.”
“Oh, thank God. Chase will be pulled away the whole night, and I don’t want to be left alone.”
“I’ve got your back, no worries.” Standing, I glared across the room at my computer. “But that means I need to get to work.”
“Gah, sorry. Maybe there will be a crazy hottie there who’ll make it worth your while.”
“Right,” I drawled. “I don’t think ‘lawyer’ and ‘hottie’ are two words that go together for me.”
“Hey!” she snapped playfully. “Chase is a hottie.”
“You’re right. Maybe we should all shack up together. We’ll have a nonromantic and sexless polyamorous relationship. Well, you two can keep being romantic and having sexy times.”
“So, basically Chase and me in a relationship and you as our friend?”
“Yes. That.”
“Wow,” Lula deadpanned. “What a drastic change.”
“You’re right. It’s too different.”
“Get to work, lady.”
“Oh, baby, crack that whip.” Ending the call, I sat at my desk and turned on my three monitors. One played music, the other had listed text and pictures, and the last had my layout. Ignoring the disconcerting feeling behind me, I set to work on the new brochure design for one of the local witch houses.
I loved what I did. Because I’d inherited my grandma’s mortgage-free house and my own expenses were low, I was able to work for myself. Had I started out in a larger design firm, I’d have been a tiny car at the very end of a long train. Whatever assignments I would’ve managed to s
nag would’ve been small, with no creativity involved—almost like a paint-by-numbers project.
Instead, I could do my own thing and build my portfolio.
When the doorbell rang a little while later, I went and peeked through the edge of the curtained window before throwing the door open. “I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life.”
The pizza guy’s eyes widened. Since he was definitely stoned, it was a big difference when his lids lowered back to mellowed-out slits. “Sweet, dude.” He opened the warming bag and began sliding the box out.
It went against my growling stomach’s demands, but I voiced my realization. “Wait. I didn’t order pizza.”
“You didn’t?” The guy handed me the bag and fumbled in his pocket to pull out a wad of cash and receipts. He flipped through until he found the one he was looking for. “It’s the right address. The note says, ‘I knew you’d forget dinner’ and it was ordered by Lula.”
I practically swooned over my bestie. My stomach voiced its own approval. “She knows me so well.”
“I wish I had a friend who sent me pizza,” he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face.
“But then you’d probably have to deliver it, so that’s not as cool.”
“Good point, dude. Enjoy the pizza.”
“Hey,” I said, halting his steps.
He turned back to me. “Yeah?”
“Don’t you need your pizza warmer thingy?”
“Oh, man, thank you. My boss said if I forget another one, it’s coming out of my tips.”
Careful with my treasured food, I slipped the bag off and tossed it to him. “Have a nice night.”
I was almost inside when he asked, “You wanna go to a party tonight? It’s at my friend’s house. His parents will be home, but he’s got the whole basement as his pad. And his parents are mad dope.”
With a small smile, I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Pizza and me have a date.”
He gave me a knowing nod. “I dig it.”
Though I only nudged the door with my hip, it slammed shut with enough force to rattle the window. “Either I need to lay off the pizza or one of the spirits is angry the open door was letting a draft into the house.” I shook my head. “And now I’ve started talking to myself. I really need to get out more.”
Putting the boxes on my kitchen table, I flipped open the lid to see spicy pepperoni pizza, mac and cheese bites, and a dessert calzone.
I fixed a plate and grabbed my cell.
Me: You love me. You really love me.
Lula: It’s my fault you’ve got to rush, I figured I owed you.
Me: And food is always the way to repay a debt to me.
Lula: Plus, free booze on Friday.
Me: I already agreed to go. You don’t have to keep trying to sell me on it.
Lula: Just in case you were thinking of changing your mind.
Me: True. Remind me again when I’m battling my hair and makeup.
Lula: Deal.
Turning on the TV, I flicked through the stations, pausing occasionally. When I found something good, and the weird feeling on the back of my neck subsided, I stopped.
“Maybe I should call an exorcist,” I muttered to myself.
I amended that idea to a psychiatrist when I could’ve sworn I heard faint and echoey laughter.
Chapter Two
It’s Shark Week, Bitches
Denny
POOR LULA.
From previous experience, Lula had known Chase’s award event would be boring for anyone who wasn’t a lawyer—hence why she’d roped me into attending, too. Because he was an award recipient, Chase had been allowed to invite multiple guests. However, the vast majority of his work functions would only include a plus one, not a plus one and her BFF. That meant there would be a lot of dinners in Lula’s future that wouldn’t include my charming companionship.
I didn’t envy her.
Turnabout being fair play and all, Lula’s job at a payroll company meant she’d have boring company dinners to drag Chase to as payback.
The way I figured it, mutual torture made for strong couples.
Fighting another yawn, I forced an interested expression as the group we were standing with talked about a current case they were working on.
Law and Order, it was not.
Rather than dramatic arguments and wild twists, all the talk was focused on the logistics of case references, tedious trial preparations, and previous motions and hearings. If the actual work was even half as dull as the recap, there was no way the lawyers didn’t nap in their offices.
Less than an hour in, and I was ready to climb under a table and snooze.
Leaning toward Lula, I whispered, “I’m going to hit up the bar.”
“For the love of our friendship, you better bring me a drink,” she whispered back, her tone a mix of pleading and threatening.
With an awkward smile, I backed away from the group and hustled to the bar. I caught the eye of the bartender and let my desperation show.
She must’ve picked up on it because she was in front of me less than a minute later. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Or twenty. But I’d settle for four of them. Two glasses of wine, a scotch on the rocks, and something strong. Like a shot… or ten.”
Shaking her head, she grabbed a glass and poured some vodka, grenadine, and lime juice into it. “Sorry, we aren’t allowed to serve shots at these functions.” Her voice lowered. “Businessmen get handsy.” She set the glass down. “However, if something were to happen to this vodka while my back was turned, I’d have no control over that.”
“Oh, bless you, you beautiful booze goddess,” I whispered before discreetly knocking back the shot.
“And pouring wine and scotch can take a long time, so here’s a drink to tide you over.”
She placed a martini in front of me, and I sipped at it as I enjoyed the peace away from the bickering attorneys.
“You’re not a lawyer,” I heard from next to me.
“And thank God for that,” I murmured automatically before looking to the side to see who’d spoken.
Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.
Around six feet tall, an attractive man was watching me, his warm, brown eyes twinkling with amusement. With his well-fitted classic suit and his perfectly styled dirty-blond hair, it was easy to guess he was a lawyer.
He looks like a Ken doll, and not in an entirely bad way.
More like I wanna mess up his hair, and then maybe find out if he’s all smooth down below...
Realizing how rude my knee-jerk response had been, I cleared my throat and asked, “What gave me away?”
“You’re bored.”
Grimacing, I felt guilty my mood was so obvious. “Oops.”
“Don’t worry, it’s expected. The spouses and dates are always bored. Lawyers tend to view these events as a chance to network and show off, so they always look calculating and in their element.”
“Like a shark during Shark Week,” I muttered.
The man chuckled. “Who’re you here with?”
I tilted my head toward where the group stood. “Chase Morrison.”
He lifted his drink to his lips but paused at my answer. “Isn’t he engaged to…” His words trailed off as his brows furrowed.
“Tallulah?” I supplied. “Yes, she’s over there with him.”
He didn’t lose the quizzical expression. “So, you both…”
Laughing, I shook my head. “No. Lula invited me for company since she knew he’d be busy.”
His features relaxed. “Smart of her.”
“Very.” I finished my martini. “Speaking of, I should get back. I think dinner is starting soon.”
He held out his hand. “Paul Griffith.”
Taking his offered hand, I smiled despite the chills travelling down my spine. “Denny Underwood.”
His smirk and raised brow were expected. “Denny?”
Here it comes.
<
br /> Nope, I’m not a boy.
Nope, I’m not a pancake.
And, nope, high school boys and those with the sense of humor of one, I’m not open twenty-four seven.
“Short for Haden,” I explained.
“Interesting… Heritage based?”
I shrugged. “Who knows. I’m a little Welsh. Some German, I think. Nordic, also.”
He reached toward my hair but stopped suddenly.
Good, I thought I was gonna have to tear him a new one.
People touching my hair without my permission was a guaranteed way to piss me off. Unfortunately, it was also a common occurrence.
Wincing, Paul rubbed his fingertips together. He dropped his hand and shot me a small smile. “Random shock. Anyway, Nordic explains the coloring.”
So blond it was nearly white, my long hair had always gotten me a load of attention. I’d often toyed with the idea of cutting it very short, but I could never bring myself to do it.
I had, however, tried to color it on multiple occasions. Hot pink, bright blue, mousy brown… the results were always the same—a bathtub that looked like the setting of a cartoon orgy and zero color in my hair.
Even the hairdressers I’d been to were always baffled when the dye rinsed right out. Of course, their confusion had been mixed with relief since each one had vehemently tried to convince me not to color it in the first place.
My skin was more of the same. Hours in the sun left me with nothing. I didn’t burn. I didn’t tan. I got a little pink before returning to ghostly pale.
Lula and I could spend an hour in the sun, and she would leave with a tan that lasted weeks while I’d still look like I lived in my parents’ basement away from any natural light.
Adding my pale blue eyes to the mix, I could easily pass for an extra on Vikings.
Grabbing the drinks, I smiled at Paul. “It was nice chatting with you.”
“You, too,” he said, returning my smile. “Hopefully we’ll have a chance to do it again tonight.”
Despite his almost faux pas of touching my hair without my permission, I found myself hoping the same. “I’d like that.”
