Page 30 of Hot Ghoul Summer

There’s a kiss, a long, searching kiss that feels different. Molly’s head twists, and she pulls away. “Good? You’re still—what you are. You kill people.”

“I don’t. Well, normally, I don’t. Their souls would leave this mortal plane, anyway. Souls can wander and get lost, especially if the person’s faith has weakened or they’ve been struggling for a long time. I’m like a shepherd. A sherpa. A guide dog!” I don’t want to raise my voice.

I’m just afraid she’s right. I would so gladly kill anyone who hurts my Molly, and she’s not even mine.

Molly regards me skeptically. “I think you have a good side, but good? I’m too tired to understand right now.” Her fingers trail down my chest, and my cold blood that doesn’t flow suddenly heats and rushes. “To a nurse, death still takes people all too soon. You ruin the work I do.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to burst out that she’s young and idealistic. If she’d seen what I have— centuries of war, famine, plague, poverty, and disease, she would know that sometimes, death is a welcome old friend.

“If I can prove to you that sometimes death is not just necessary, but even a comfort, will you... Will you go on a date with me?”

“A date where? The living room?”

She laughs at me, but I still revel in the sound.

“I’ll handle the arrangements,” I say with more confidence than I truly feel. This house can stock the fridge, surely it can put a romantic dinner for two in the oven. And maybe a steel band and some tropical breezes in the back garden? “It will be a beautiful, tropical, summer evening with a man who wants to get to know you better.”

The hand on my chest doesn’t waver. It kneads. Blood rushes south and concentrates into a pulsing pole between my legs.

“Well, my hot girl summer is shot to hell, seeing as I’m being hunted down one way or another.”

“Not too late to make it a hot ghoul summer,” I say, flashing my cheesiest grin.

Molly rolls onto her back, her warmth leaving me. She laughs in exhaustion, groaning out, “Oh, God. That was bad. So, so terrible.”

I risk rolling until I’m halfway on top of her, my weight pressed to her outer thigh. Her eyes widen at what she feels, but I don’t move away. Not yet. “My jokes and my anger at people who try to hurt my girl are the only terrible things about me. I promise that if you keep giving me chances, I’ll prove everything else about me is good. Or at least average.”

Molly’s eyes hold mine, and the soft lights in the room dim further without either one of us touching a thing.

“Good at everything?” There's an unmistakable suggestion in her voice.

I swallow. “At least average,” I remind her.

Her hip wriggles against mine. “A little more than average.”

Mood music starts to play. Molly giggles and pulls me down to kiss her.

This house is the best wingman ever.

LISTEN. SERIOUSLY.

I don’t care what else Toby is (no, I do care, but hold that thought), he is a gentleman. An absolutely old-fashioned, “must save the damsel” gentleman.

I know I’m vulnerable and tired. I want to fuck to fall asleep so that I can forget about all of this. My other vices are alcohol and shopping. With my nerves right now, I think my favorite red wine would come back up. I can’t go hit the mall right now.

Yeah, I’m tempted to do the monster mash out of pure stress relief and some kind of awe.

That’s where the gentleman part of the story comes in.

“You don’t feel well. I don’t blame you. You sleep, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He kisses my lips, then my forehead. “All right, Moll?”

I can feel his boner against my leg—and yes, I’m totally saying my savior with a hidden skull face has a boner, because it’s too good not to.

Molly, stop. You’re on the verge of hysteria. Your sense of humor and judgment skills are both at the teenage level.

My inner voice has a petulant comeback. Do you remember all the bad decisions you made during your freshman year of college? What about the guy you met during spring break last year?

That’s what I thought.

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