More importantly, I’m too worked up to care. I wrap my arms around Mark’s neck and get up on my toes to kiss him. His hands settle on my ass, and he gives my right cheek a soft squeeze. I’m leading him back to the couch when the front door opens with a pitiful groan, then slams shut.
Mark jerks away from me. “Nope. I’m out.”
I sigh as I watch him race out of the house, jump into his car, and speed down the driveway.
After locking the front door, I replay the last fifteen minutes in my head. Did he remember to shut the door after he put the parking brake in place? If he didn’t, then a stiff breeze could explain the slam.
I don’t know if he shut it or not. He was behind me when we came back inside.
I tidy up the living room, returning the fallen book to its place on the shelf, and grabbing our plates and glasses. I make a mental note to toss the burned rug in the garbage tomorrow, and once I’m done washing the dishes, I turn off the lights and head toward the steps.
Might as well pass out from the heady bliss only my vibrator can provide.
The ends of my hair lift as a breeze whips through the hall. My gut tightens, and I freeze in place. The downstairs windows are closed, as is the front door. I’m sure of it. Where would that breeze be coming from?
Nowhere good.
Goosebumps race over my skin as the air around me drops several degrees, holding me in a tight cocoon. Terror steals the breath from my lungs. I no longer feel alone in this house, and those little oddities that drove Mark out of here now seem like clear signs I should’ve gone with him.
Then a deep, gravelly voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere says, “Don’t ever invite him into my house again.”
I choke out a scream. There’s no time to wonder if I’m having an auditory hallucination. All I know is something isvery wronghere, and I need to get the fuck out. I don’t grab my purse or put on my shoes. I throw the front door open and race into the night.
Chapter 4
Winston
Icouldn’t take it anymore. That man, thatanimal,belching in Natalie’s presence. Demanding money for the meal he brought her. Asking how her mother was. Did he really not know she died? He spoke to Natalie as if she were a child, and not only did she allow this behavior to continue, but she also actively sought his touch afterward. It’s been a very long time since my days as a bachelor, but this is not how a gentleman behaves when he’s trying to court a lady.
Have sexual relations changed that much in the last two centuries? Is this the way men act now? So arrogant in their ability to attract a woman that they abandon even the most basic manners and standards for personal hygiene? I’m appalled at that possibility.
Perhaps Mark is the exception, and society has not fallen so far from where it once was. Regardless, I know scaring him out of here was the right decision. It was obvious Natalie wasn’t going to, and as frustrated as I’ve been with her messiness and melancholy, Mark was a thousand times worse.
Since the moment she arrived, I’ve watched her. Studied her. Her needs are so simple, and it takes a second, maybe two, oflooking into her sparkling brown eyes to know what they are. How could Mark be so oblivious? That revolting prick.
I didn’t mean to frighten Natalie, though. Mark pushed me to the edge, and when I spoke to her, it was using a tone that should’ve been reserved for him. Now, my new roommate is running across the gravel driveway without anything on her feet.
I sigh as I follow her, knowing this is a disaster I created, and it will get worse before it gets better.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, allowing my mist-like form to come into view.
She spins on her heels to face me, stubbing her toe on a large rock and falling flat on her ass as she lets out a stream of curses.
“An aptly timed reminder that you’re barefoot and won’t get far.”
“What in the––” she begins, then sees me, and starts crawling backward with fear tightening her features. “Oh my god. Wha––Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Her chest heaves, and she pauses, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes.
“There’s nothing there,” she says quietly to herself. “This is grief. Just grief. It’s consuming you, and now you’re hallucinating.”
“Not hallucinating,” I point out, floating closer until I’m about a foot away. “My name is Winston.”
“No, it isn’t! Because you’re not real!”
“I’m quite real, Natalie. Dead, but real.”
She’s whispering to herself now as she drops her hands in her lap, eyes still pinched closed. “Go in, get your shoes, your purse, and your keys, and get out of here.”
