Page 77 of How I Met Your Murderer

“We just made some lucky guesses,” I continued between sips, “unless you’ve been holding out on me with obscure fish knowledge.”

Eric grinned. “And what if I have?”

The drink was already going to my head by the time I finished the first bottle, softening his lovely face at the edges and also giving me the sense that the portrait on the opposite wall was watching us with slight disdain. Maybe I hadn’t eaten enough today.

“I’ll find a way to get it out of you,” I teased, my fingers warm and loose as they slid up under his shirt and splayed across his ribs, over his tattoo. “Might even be chaotic.”

He really was good at the whole game master thing. It made me wish we had more time—but then, what didn’t? —and made me wish I’d put a little more effort into naming my character and building out his backstory. Thorne Greenbriar from “South Kerry But Fantasy” had a chip on his shoulder, a limp from an orc attack, and a really cool eyepatch, but that was about it. He’d also nearly gotten eaten by a mimic disguised as a rowboat in our last session, while we were exploring an abandoned lighthouse.

“Think Thorne’s ever going to impress Larkensong?” I sighed, the second bottle making me a touch wistful as I snuggled deeper against Eric. Larkensong was his ghost bard, a character who tagged along with the rest of our party, and I wanted—rather, Thorne wanted—Larkensong to write a ballad about him.

Eric’s grin was warm and knowing. “Who says he isn’t impressed already? Might even be more than that. Why do you think Larkensong insisted on going into that dungeon first?”

I took another drink, too big a sip and too fast, that made the room tilt, but pleasantly so when I could just sink into Eric.

“So what’s a ranger got to do to—”

I stopped myself as footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder. Brisk, sharp taps that sounded like the heel of a well-made shoe.

“Evenin’, Caoimhe,” I called, bewildered. It was after ten, according to the ECH000 receiver I’d left on the table to act as our clock. Or a direct line to Gary, should the elemental decide it felt like having a bit of a chat.

As her shadowed figure became visible, Eric vanished from sight, though I still felt the weight of him beside me. He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze, as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere, and I cracked open another bottle to show him I wasn’t, either. He just didn’t want me getting in trouble for having company after hours, even if Jordy now knew all about that company and the nature of it, and took it in his easy stride.

Caoimhe was a different story. She didn’t know about D&D, or trivia, or half the things that went on here once she returned down the hill to her posh apartment.

Now, she stepped into the parlor, scattering black salt everywhere and gazing down with a faint frown. “I’ll have the cleaning company up here tomorrow. Who’s been tracking dirt?” Finally, she raised her eyes to me and my array of Guinness bottles, her lips quirking. Her blond hair was tied up in a messy bun, and there was a clipboard under her arm. Despite the shadows under her eyes, she looked vaguely pleased with herself. “Never mind. I know it wasn’t you, Raff. Your boots are always spotless. Twenty euro says it was Jordy.”

I laughed, tipped the bottle to her, and took another sip. I wasn’t completely scuttered yet, but I was definitely swimming in an ocean of malted barley with deep notes of coffee and chocolate. I still preferred tea, but this was all for Eric. I’d do anything for him at this point, and he damn well knew it.

Without another word, Caoimhe took a seat next to me on the cushions—thankfully not on the side where I could still feel Eric pressed against me. That would have been, at best, hard to explain.

“I see you’re having no trouble unwinding after a long day on the job,” she observed with a teasing glint in her eyes. They were warmer tonight, less laser-focused on her own success. Or maybe it was just the Guinness painting me a pretty picture. She smiled, gesturing to the unopened bottles. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” I said, because it was the only way to respond to your boss after they just caught you half-cut on her property late at night when you were technically always on the clock. Reaching for a fresh one, I popped the cap for her. As I did, an unseen hand slipped under my shirt and ran a soft finger over my nipple, flicking it back and forth.

Sweet suffering Jaysus, was Eric possessed?

Caoimhe took the bottle from me and kicked off her shoes, frowning once more at the scattered line of black salt—it was taking everything in me not to go smooth it back into position—before taking a long pull from her bottle. “This place feels different lately, doesn’t it?” she remarked between sips.

I bit my lip and nodded, unable to speak properly because that chaotic invisible gobshite was pinching my nipples, and the sensation was shooting right to my groin.

“It feels amazing,” she added when I didn’t say anything, clinking her bottle against mine. “Calm and settled, with just a touch of dark and spooky that our guests will be after. I think we’re actually ready for opening night.”

I nearly choked on my Guinness, and not because of Eric.

“Calm,” I repeated, doing a poor job of keeping the sarcasm from my voice as I thought of Liam’s pet goldfish floating in its bowl and how many hours I’d spent on my bad knee with Eric scrubbing moss off the walls. Of HE’S MINE carved into the stones themselves in a crude hand, by a claw, which surely Basil had mentioned to her. “Right.”

She turned slightly toward me at that, taking one more deep sip before setting her bottle down. “You know, Raff, I do like you. And I respect you. I wish you understood that I love this place, too—just like all your ghosts have loved it over the years, enough to live here or visit or fight a war to try to keep it for a little while. I bought it because I’m honored to care for it and love it like so many have before me. Surely some of the spirits appreciate that. I wanted to give this beautiful old girl her grandeur back, and I think it’s safe to say we have.” She paused, inhaling deeply. “The air even feels lighter. Everything’s going so well for once.”

“Oh yeah,” I said through clenched teeth as Eric’s hand slid down my stomach and found my cock, starting to stroke the length of it with a few light fingers. “Feels absolutely fecking grand, it does.”

I was trying to signal to Eric to knock it off before I was fully on display for Caoimhe in my overalls, but she mistook my grimace for something else and beamed at me.

“It’s really good to hear you say that,” she said. Leaning in with a confidential grin—just as Eric gave me a squeeze inside my trousers, the right bastard—she added, “I’m planning to go as a banshee for opening night, by the way. Long white wig, silver body paint, an antique dress. The full whack.”

“That’ll look brilliant,” I managed to say tightly while Eric tongued my ear and rubbed my half-hard cock with the heel of his palm. “Great costume.”

She studied me for a long moment in which I tried my best to look like I wasn’t sweating Guinness out my pores while being felt up by a ghost. Then she smiled. “I want you to stay through opening night, by the way. In case that wasn’t already clear. You’re still welcome to one of the upstairs guest rooms, on the house, and you’ve more than earned a free ticket—and one for that very cute friend of yours, too. Or more than a friend, if you’ve found a bit of backbone and made things official by then. Just make sure you both come in costume—it’ll be so much more fun that way.”