Page 2 of Jack's Devotion

"I'm home right now."

"Before today, motherfucker."

"Yesterday," I lie.

"Bullshit. You haven't been home in a week. I know this because Madeline and I fuc…we used the pool a week ago. She left a note for you on the counter. You still haven't found it."

"You fucked in my pool, you asshole?" I peer through the blinds again, scowling down at the covered pool.Goddammit.Now, I have to drain it, tear it out, and start all over. And I actually liked that pool. It's heated.

"Who did? Wasn't me."

I smile despite myself. "You are such an asshole. What does the note say?"

"That she expects you at dinner tomorrow."

"I have a thing."

"Bullshit. Making some asshole a bunch of money is not a thing, Jack. Dinner with your brother and sister-in-law is a thing. Making some asshole money is a job."

"You have absolutely no faith in me."

"Uh, clearly not. I know you. You work and annoy me and your employees. Or you go to the coffee shop and annoy Aspen and Noah. Or you annoy someone else in town and call that socializing. That's the extent of your life nine days out of ten. You're coming to dinner before you make my wife sad with your miserable existence."

"My existence is just fine." My gaze shifts from the pool to the pool house in time to see…something. A flicker of shadow passing in front of the tiny door lite. A human sized shadow. A humanwomansized shadow.

Goddammit. I hate when Drake is right.

Oh, he's definitely wrong about the state of my existence. It's not miserable. It's…comfortable. I do what the fuck I want to do when the fuck I want to do it. I socialize when it's convenient. But I just so happen to want to work. Where is the problem here?

He's right about the pool house, though. Someone is out there.

"You're full of shit and you know it," he says. "You only work so goddamn much because you don't know how to relax. Your mind doesn't work that way."

"Fine. I'll come to dinner." It's not like I have a moral objection to dinner anyway. I just like fucking with him. Until Madeline burst into his life, I was pretty much the only person on the planet he talked to regularly. He was bullied pretty ruthlessly when we were teenagers. He dealt by shutting out the world. "I gotta go. I just spotted my ghost."

"Jesus Christ, Jack. Call the sheriff."

"Yep. I'm all over it. Peace out, fucker." I hang on up on him before shoving my phone into my pocket. I probably should call Dillon and get his ass out here to deal with whoever the fuck is squatting in my pool house. That'd be the smart thing to do. But am I going to do the smart thing? Uh, fuck no.

Drake was right, I hate boredom. And I'm currently bored. I'm also currently here. Might as well risk my life and hope whoever is out there just needs a place to stay for a totally normal reason and they aren't a mass murderer or a thief trying to rob me blind.

I pause halfway down the stairs and pull out my phone.

Me: Out of curiosity, are there any unsolved murders—mass or otherwise—in the vicinity?

Dillon: I certainly hope not. It's my weekend off. Why?

Me: Just checking.

Dillon: Again…why?

Me: My pool house is probably haunted.

I chuckle when Dillon starts typing, stops, starts again and then stops. Not even two seconds later, my phone rings.

"What do you mean, your pool house is probably haunted?" he asks.

"There's someone in it. Probably a ghost," I mutter, jogging down the stairs again. "I'm going to check it out."

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