Page 43
“You good?” I ask.
“No,” she stage-whispers, though I’m not sure who she’s trying to be quiet for. “I’m not fucking good!”
I wince, rubbing the back of my neck. I feel a tad dickish.
“Dude, what do I do? There’s a ghost in my room!”
“He’s not better-looking than me, right?”
“Casper!”
“Tell me I’m prettier.”
She huffs. “I swear to God—”
“You’re right, of course I’m prettier.” I lean against one of the walls.
“I can’t go back in there. I’m freaking out.”
I sigh. “Okay, how about this. I can be there in fifteen.” Fifteen seconds, my thoughts snark. “I can take a look and make sure there’s no bogeyman.”
She hesitates before responding. “No—no, that’s okay. You don’t have to come over.”
“Okay, I won’t.” I shrug.
“I mean, if you want to,” she quickly follows up.
I roll my lips together to resist the laughter working its way up my throat. “Duchess . . .”
“Okay, fine. Yes. Would you please come by?”
“Of course I will. But hey, text me your address again. It’s in my messages somewhere, but I don’t want to scroll that high to find it again.” I sigh, amusing myself.
After waiting about fifteen minutes, I go back outside, make sure my clothes get a few extra raindrops on them before texting that I’m here—the devil is in the details. Looks like half the street lost power.
“Ghostbusters,” I announce flatly when the front door of the giant Tudor swings open. Goddamn, those little shorts from earlier look even better in person.
“Hilarious,” she replies, stepping aside to let me in.
I stride past her, shaking off the rain in the vestibule. She uses her phone like a flashlight to illuminate the stairs. “I’m on the second floor.”
“Cool,” I say, as if I haven’t been spending all my spare time there lately. I quickly remind myself to play dumb when I get into her apartment; I can’t just be making myself at home like usual, grabbing snacks and rearranging pillows however I see fit. Normally, I enjoy challenging her structured organization and messing with her bedding display. Who else is going to force her to color outside the lines?
She ushers me into her almost pitch-black apartment. A faint glow flickers on the hallway walls, coming from the living room.
“This is where I live.”
“Going to give me the tour?” I ask, half joking since the space is swathed in darkness—and because I already know my way around quite well.
She huffs out a laugh and I toe off my shoes, padding into the living room behind her.
“You’re a woman in her twenties with only one candle?” I ask.
“They’re all in my bedroom.”
I point to the two large pocket doors. “In there?”
Anna nods and wraps her arms around herself, rubbing her arms like she’s chilly.
