“Yeah,” BJ said, nodding and giving her an affectionate grin. “A ghost.” He turned to me and dropped his arm back into hislap. “The week after we watched Lord of the Rings, someone”—he cocked his head to the side in Georgie’s direction—“had nightmares all week that Smeagol was attacking her in her sleep.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, laughing uncomfortably.
BJ did an impressive Smeagol impersonation.
The laughter burst from the table, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She slapped me on the arm. “You promised.”
“I’m sorry,” I held up my palms in surrender. “You really need to lay off those M-rated movies, Georgie.”
BJ did another impersonation, and we all lost it again.
After a long moment, the laughter finally died, and I thought about telling them about my mother’s ghost. They would laugh, and I would laugh with them and say it was just a figment of my imagination, like Shadow Man. They wouldn’t think I was crazy, or that something was wrong with me. I should tell them; I needed to vent to someone.
“So, what’s it like living with Ethan?” Jodie asked, stirring her drink with a straw. “Does he walk around shirtless, or better still, naked?” A wicked glint appeared in her eyes.
Georgie pursed her lips.
“He’s surprisingly easy to live with,” I answered truthfully. “And no, he doesn’t.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I might’ve had to visit.”
We drank, we ate, we laughed. They danced like slightly crazy drunk young adults do, and I made Georgie streak. We all giggled madly as she stripped off and sprinted down the street. Bum wobbling, boobs bouncing. Yahoos rang out and horns blared from passing cars. Jodie laughed so hard she doubled over and almost wet herself. I drank a whole lot more than I should have, and by 11 p.m. we were all smashed.
I sat at the bar, struggling to stay on my stool. But the alcohol had done its job, and I’d forgotten my troubles. The pain in my leg was gone, but my body had somehow lost its ability to sit. Jodie had the giggles, and Georgie was dancing with BJ.
“Would you like to dance?” a guy with dark hair asked. His face was a blur, but I thought he was cute.
“I’d love to dance.” I stood up and staggered forward like someone had pushed me. A large, strong hand grabbed my arm and stopped me from face-planting.
“She would not like to dance,” Karson ordered, his voice a low growl. “Leave.”
The male eyes flared, he didn’t argue; he backpedaled and walked away. Karson released my arm.
I gripped the bar to hold myself steady. “That was mean.”
“Was it?” he drawled.
“Yes, and I’d like to dance.”
“You’re not dancing. You can barely even walk. I think you should sit down before you fall down.”
“You need new stools,” I slurred. “Those ones are faulty—they move when you sit on them.”
Jodie smiled. “I don’t think it’s the stools, Aims.”
“Where’s my dance partner?” I turned, searching for the dark-haired man. The building’s walls seemed to revolve, and they twisted on a side angle, stopped, then swung back again as I stood perfectly still, staring at them. “Oh wow, your walls need some work too. Did you know they move as well?”
Karson sighed, “Okay, Amelia, it’s home time.”
“No. I’m having too much fun.”
“Fun’s over. Bar’s closing.”
“Oh really? I know the boss, so maybe I could talk to him. I can’t sweet-talk him cause he’s not interested in me. But I could ask nicely. Manners go a long way.” I went to move away, and myfoot snagged on something on the floor—and staggered, the floor lurched towards my face.
“For the god’s sakes,” he muttered, his hand taking hold of my arm.
