Page 17 of Presence

Without warning, he releases me right then and there. My jaw pops open, a crimson flash of heat coming to my cheeks. I stay rooted as he saunters to the swing alone, a confident sway in his stride.

“What did you just say?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up toward the baby blue sky. He turns, not stopping his walk, his dimples showing in a self-satisfied smirk.

Should guardian spirits act like this? Should they lace their words with sexual innuendos and evoke the desire to be undressed by their humans? Should they be so devilish, with smiles that melt panties and clench abdomens? Or do I just have a peculiar one?

“I’m in your subconscious, Claire,” Echo says, twirling his finger to indicate this realm. “I’m in your head. You’d be surprised at all the things I have access to.”

My dad used to say, “Don’t leave your mouth hanging open, or a fly will buzz right in.” That was before he left us, of course. I guess I never listened to his advice anyway. Now is not any different.

“You read my mind?!” I finally manage to say.

Echo’s laughter rings out, dark and mischievous. He leans against the swing’s leg, arms crossed over his chest.

“With pleasure,” he shrugs. “That’s where all the interesting stuff happens. Plus, I need to know you to work with you, don’t you think?”

I scoff, looking away briefly, my own arms crossing over my chest in mimicry. Apparently, when you like someone, you just start copying their actions.

“You could have, I don’t know, just tried the old-fashioned way,” I say, looking back at him. His hair catches the sunlight, shimmering slightly, and his eyes look darker than their usual metallic shade against the bright sky.

“And what? Wait around until you agree to play twenty questions with me just so I can protect you from your sickness?” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me.

“Okay, wait a minute,” I say, raising my hands and swallowing hard. The mention of my sickness makes my head spin. “Protection is one thing. Snooping about my sex life is another entirely.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, Echo smirks and licks his canines, sending me reeling.

“What sex life?” he asks, grinning. “You got any?”

Oh, my god…

“Ouch,” is all I manage to say. My cheeks burn—they must be beet red. But something else is burning too: my blood rushing angrily to my abdomen. Just hearing Echo mention the word “sex” does weird things to me. It also makes me more embarrassed about my abstinence; I wish I were less rusty in those intimate arts right now because this... spirit... he excites me.

Echo chuckles again. “There’s no reason to feel embarrassed,” he says. “Want to hear the bright side? I know everything there is to know about you. And guess what?”

I press my lips into a thin line and take a deep breath before nodding. I’m not sure I actually want to hear it. Echo is proving himself to be the astral equivalent of a bad boy in a nice wrapper.

“What?” I ask, shifting my weight. Sand crunches under my boot as I move.

“I still like you.”

His words hang in the air, surprisingly tender against his playful arrogance. It catches me off guard, brushing away some of the worry built inside me. I just stare at him, wondering what the hell is going on. Butterflies rummage through my stomach, chest, and heart. My nipples turn hard like little pebbles because of this unexpected bright side.

“You still like me?” I echo, puckering my lips and stepping forward. He just smiles, no insecurity, no blushing.

“Yeah, don’t look so shocked,” he says. “You’re a fun person, Claire.”

“Fun,” I repeat.

My mind races, processing everything hidden inside it. There’s so much I wouldn’t want someone like Echo to know, so much I’d want to hide forever. But apparently, he’s already seen it all, and he still likes me. That’s... a relief, I think.

A lightness in my chest battles with the embarrassment, but I know which will stick around longer. Which I’ve been craving more over the past year.

“Anyway, let’s not get sidetracked,” Echo says. “I’m not here just because you’re fun. I’m here because you’re fighting a battle few can understand, and you shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

He doesn’t have to explain what it is he’s talking about. It’s clear. My sickness. My inability to fall asleep on my own. The elephant in the room.

“Right,” I quip, nodding curtly. “Right, you’re my guardian spirit. My protector.”

He flashes another perfect, dimpled smile before pointing at the swing. It’s a clear indicator the topic is over, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to talk about my insomnia here, in this heaven of a dream. What I’m not grateful for are his next words that send a spiral of heat through me.

---