“I’m so fucking glad you are,” I whisper, leaning in to touch our cheeks and birthmarks together.
He indulges me for a moment before whispering, “How are you, Boo?”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, closing my eyes, my chest finally feeling a little less ripped apart now that he’s here.
It’s like he’s sewing me slowly back together.
He leans back to look at me. “You look like shit. The most beautiful pile of shit I’ve ever seen, but still shit.” A laugh breaks out of me at his serious face, but he doesn’t laugh with me. “Did you eat? You look pale.” He scrunches up his nose, and I gulp at his scrutiny. “You have rings under your eyes, and your cheekbones are even more prominent than usual. Don’t get me wrong, I love them. They’re pretty as hell, but you don’t look like you’re fine, Boo.”
“I will be,” I promise, but his watchful gaze doesn’t leave mine, not believing a word.
I don’t know if I believe myself, either.
“They fucking hurt you, and then I left. Not willingly, but once more, I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m so fucking sorry, Slo. I hate myself for—” He starts talking himself down, so I lean in and put my lips on his. It’s like kissing air, but my lips are greeted with the familiar prickling sensation. Saylor lets out a low hum, his hands coming up to cup my jaw and butterflies taking off in my chest.
I’m so freaking in love with him.
In love with a ghost.
“It’s fine. You’re here now when I need you most,” I whisper, trying to reassure him.
“I would never be anywhere else if I could choose,” he whispers back.
“I know, don’t worry. Me neither. That’s why I’m here, waiting for you.”
He smiles, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Waiting for me or also waiting a little bit for them?”
Busted.
I lean back and shoot him a glare, making him chuckle. “Come on, Boo, I know they fucked up badly, but I also know how much they meant to you.”
“Meant,past tense. You’re right,” I lie, laying back to lean propped up against the side of the van.
Saylor raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t comment. He moves and lays on my lower half, his head on my belly.
We stay like that for a few quiet moments, listening to the radio playing a soft tune, and I just breathe, grateful to have him back.
As long as I have him, I can keep myself from drowning.
I reach out to stroke his head, making him moan softly, “Fuck, I love when you do that.”
“Did you love head scratches while you were alive, too, or is this something new?” I ask softly, not stopping my movements.
But Saylor turns his head to look at me, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. I don’t think anybody ever did that for me after I was maybe five.”
It’s a perfect opening for the question that has burned inside me for a long time, but I’ve never dared ask. “Didn’t you have, like… a girlfriend when you died?”
He’s amazing, kind, funny, and smart. I bet he would have had many girls who wanted him. Even Tally admitted that she once had a crush on him.
Saylor smirks at me. “Worried I didn’t properly break up with her before I started something with you? I thinkuntil death do us partis a thing in relationships too, not only marriages.” My heart sinks, and I bet he can see it on my face because his smirk vanishes before he moves up and straddles my legs, prompting me to look up at him while his hand comes up to cradle my cheeks. “I never had a girlfriend before,” he confesses in a soft voice, his gaze holding mine. “I fooled around a bit. Not as much as Nash, but there just wasn’t anyone special before you.” I let out a breath, my heart jumping up to where it’s supposed to be, a small smile tugging at my lips, making him grin in response. “Got a Band-Aid?”
I roll my eyes, my smile growing bigger, already knowing something silly is about to spill from his smirking lips.
“I don’t think so, no. Why?”
“’Cause I scraped my knee falling for you,” he whispers, grinning, before leaning in to kiss me again.
Reaching out to place my hands where his shoulders are, I let them glide up and down his upper arms. I would literally die to kiss him properly. But it’s amazing as it is—soft and full of emotions.
