Page 10 of Almost You

“No…” He clawed at the front of my shirt. “Don’t leave! Please.”

I softened my stance. He was so young.

It wasn’t his fault I felt horny and slightly used. Ihadkissed him back.

“It’ll be okay. I promise. When I return, you won’t want me.”

“You’re wrong. I might be desperate for company, but it’s real.”

I smiled tiredly. “We’ll see.”

After I left him, I could barely finish the séance. Only five minutes or so had passed in this realm. My client was distraught that I had failed to connect to her father. She wanted to try again next week. I didn’t charge her, despite my policy of no guarantees, and agreed. My apartment, when I got there, was empty. I washed up, opened my fridge, and scrounged in it for ingredients to make a meal. When I thought of him and the kiss, blood rushed to my cheeks.

He was frightened to be alone.

But I was frightened of him.

He couldn’t be my boyfriend, being dead and all. Boyfriend? Jesus, I was pathetic.

Ghost had flipped a switch in my brain. I wanted the kisses and more. But in a week or so, after I returned to the spirit world, I might not see him at all, or he might be among the others.

I laughed bitterly. The first time a kiss had really made me come alive—and it was with a ghost.

I closed my eyes, seeing his beautiful face. His mouth. He was the first person I’d felt aching desire for in my whole life. I’d accepted those emotions might never come. Not if Abby, who I loved, couldn’t make me feel them.

But in one meeting, one kiss, he’d opened the world for me. Too bad it wasn’t the same world.

I imagined again that we’d met before—but that didn’t fucking help me. ’Cause if we’d met, I must’ve lost him. What iffate wouldkeepmaking me lose him in some cruel loop? Better to be alone than find out.

I tried not to think about Ghost. So, of course, all I did was think about him.

I imagined my hands on his skin, my fingers touching the vulnerable column of his neck. My mouth on his generous lips, my body moving into his, our rhythm together, our hearts thudding, breaths mixing. I pictured holding him, gathering him to me, rubbing a knuckle over his smiling lips. Even if it were possible—and it might be, in his realm—wouldn’t it make living here worse, not better?

SIX

Ghost

Goddammit.

Kissing never hurt anything. That much I knew. Hatred, prejudice, violence—those things were hurtful. But affection, desire, comfort—what Christopher had made me feel with his kiss—I refused to believe those were wrong.

Yet Christopher had run away. The cranky and confident man I’d gotten to know had turned and fled. Why? Was it really his fear that I was only desperate? Something else? Of course, part of me was desperate for company—that didn’t mean I didn’t like and feel attracted to Christopher.

Ghost life was too hard. And I was impatient.

“I’m fine,” I told myself. The ghosts buzzed around me like curious bees. I waved at them, attempting to move their way, but they vanished.

“Fun times,” I shouted at them. Ghosts were no better than humans.

I didn’t know how much time had passed.

For me, it felt long. Spending chunks of what seemed like hours alone, I practiced my conjuring of places and things. Once I made a delicate pond with big goldfish and a circle of bamboo. Another time, I conjured a Christmas scene: a small house, a Charlie-Brown-sized tree. Had I experienced these places? As hard as I concentrated, no answers emerged.

When I focused on faces, Christopher’s came to me. His hard features, soft lips, spiky black lashes and blue eyes.

I wanted to see him again. Big, gruff idiot that he was.

Fucking men.

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