Page 13 of Ghost Note

“This is such bullshit,” Danny groaned beside me, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the pink pillow on my bed.

I threw another piece of popcorn into my mouth and smirked as I chewed down. Robert Pattinson was on the TV screen in my bedroom, throwing Kristen Stewart over his shoulder before he climbed a very tall tree like some kind of invincible, fanged monkey. The melodies of the soundtrack rang out around the room, building and building and building—the music designed to make the viewer become doe-eyed and dreamy as they watched a regular girl fall in love with a ridiculously handsome vampire. Like there was no danger to her whatsoever.

Danny was having none of it.

Expletives fell into the pillow like muffled F-bombs. His fists were tucked under his chest, and he occasionally smacked his head down over and over again, his feet doing the same dance, making him look like some kind of demented fish.

Sure, I loved Twilight, but I tortured him with it for these kinds of reactions.Danny, when passionate, was at his hottest, whether that passion was love or hate. I may have been young, but my hormones definitely raged whenever Danny showed fire.

He always showed fire, hence why I was always a horny teenager around him.

“You okay over there?” I mumbled around my popcorn, my legs crossed at the ankle, as casual as can be.

“Idonwhywehavewatchalltime.”

“Sorry?” I leaned in closer, raising a brow he couldn’t see. “I didn’t quite catch that. You want to watch New Moon after, too?”

Danny turned his head, his cheek squished up as he glared at me. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t worry. Jacob is about to make an appearance soon. I know he’s your favourite.”

“Hewas… until I realised he was a pussy who wasn’t going to tear that stupid pale face apart with his teeth.”

I gasped, faking my disgust. “You watch how you speak about my future sparkly husband.”

“Please. That would never last. You hate the sight of blood.”

“I’d be staring at his strong jawline and brooding eyes, not the blood.”

“He’s not even that good-looking.”

“I may have to ask you to leave.”

Danny groaned, and I loved the sound he made whenever he did that. His voice had changed over the last couple of years, the sweetness of his tone fading away as he transitioned into a man. His jaw had become more prominent, and stubble had started to grow there, doing things to me I couldn’t ever explain. I’d always loved my little skater boy. I’d always been attracted to him. But Danny Silver becoming a man was making me feel things I’d never felt before.

Mainly constant arousal.

Especially when he was pouting, all the while knowing that I was only his girl—the one who could straddle his waist, cup his prickly cheeks, and turn those growls into moans of satisfaction.

“Daisy,” he said, dropping his voice and losing his irritation. “If you turn this shit off, I’ll do that thing you like me to do with my tongue.”

I watched his small smirk come alive, and I lasted an entire ten seconds before I hit the remote and the room went dark, leaving me to put my popcorn aside and roll over to the boy I planned on spending the rest of my life with… if he happened to want that, too.

My eyes pinged open, and I stared up at the ceiling of my living room as the dream I hadn’t wanted to dream lingered around the edges of my mind like a frayed seam, and all I could think as I sat there was…

Don’t pull at that thread, Daisy.

With a groggy groan, I sat up and drank more wine. I drank it until the thought of looking in Danny’s eyes again went from the worst thought possible, to the best idea I’d ever had.

Within minutes, I was pacing my house, wandering into the kitchen aimlessly, only to spin around and saunter back into the room. The wine no longer tasted nice, and I left my glass on the coffee table as I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.

“Don’t pull at that thread,” I reminded myself. “Don’t pull at that thread, don’t pull it, don’t pull it.”

But that didn’t stop me. The need to do something—anything—clawed away at my stomach until I was walking out into the hall, slipping my feet into my worn-out old Nike trainers and throwing an even older, cream, heavy-knit cardigan over my shoulders.

I grabbed my keys off the hook by the door and stared down at them in my open palm.

“I hate him…” I said aloud.

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