“Can you feel how badly I want you?” he whispers.
The evidence is pressed against my thigh. My hips arch forward. I’m trying to hold out, not to come on too strong, but I’m losing control.
“Then do something about it,” I say.
“I couldn’t give you anything more than this,” he says, sounding strained.
“I don’t want more,” I say. “I just want this.”
He leans down. I should tell him to stop, should do anything other than tilt my chin up and let my eyes close as his mouth gets closer.
His lips brush mine. I brace for the surge of feeling I know will course through me, only to feel?—
Nothing.
I peek one eye open. Griffin’s still kissing me, and objectively, everything about this should be working, but there’s an alarm going off inside my head, complete with an obnoxious sound and flashing red evacuation lights.
I press my hands against Griffin’s chest, pushing him away. “I changed my mind.”
“Okay.” His eyes are still half-closed. “Are you okay?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I duck under his arm, putting distance between us before I do something even more catastrophically stupid than I already have. “I just have to go.”
I run for the door before he can say anything else.
CHAPTER 30
People misunderstand how salt functions. Some make the mistake of believing a salt circle protects them, but it’s a barrier, nothing more. An entity cannot cross it, but a salt circle will provide no help if the entity is already inside it with you.
—Methods of Modern Ghost Hunting: A Tactical Guide to Containing and Vanquishing the Deadby Donald Dellman
I slam my bedroom door behind me and lean against it, pressing my palms flat against the wood.
What the hell was I thinking?
I drag my hands across my burning cheeks and try to suppress the mortification flooding my system. The problem is that I don’t want Griffin.
I want Nico.
I already knew this. But I didn’t think I wanted Nico so badly that my body would stage a full-on coup when kissing anyone else.
It’s the ectoplasm. I know it is.
But the ectoplasm only amplifies what’s already there.
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor. Bob hurries over from his nest of bundled-up covers, leaning up to pepper my nose with licks. I gather him into my lap.
So what if I’m attracted to Nico? Could anyone blame me? He’s so gorgeous that he doesn’t look real, with those tattoos covering his arms that I want to trace with more than just my fingers, and the way he moves with all that controlled power.
Could there be a world where he wants me, too?
I need to calm down. Nico’s not interested in me. I have to ride this out until my brain chemistry normalizes, and I can look at Nico without wanting to crawl into his lap.
I go to bed but end up tossing and turning because all I see is Nico leaning over Griffin in the van. Nico running into the apartment. Nico crouched in front of me, telling me to keep my eyes on him as I recounted what happened. I imagine him in here with me, stroking a hand through my hair, running a hand over my back, running a hand over other places… I tighten my thighs. My underwear slides against me, and the warmth of my arousal makes everything else feel muddied.
I could take care of this myself. Shove a hand between my legs and deal with the need burning through me, but Bob’s in here, and that’s gross and weird.
Maybe I can distract myself some other way. Before I knew alcohol could dull my pain, I used to rely on food. The older couple I lived with for the year after the murders were good people. They had two biological kids around my age and did everything they could to make me feel welcome, including giving me a small allowance. I’d spend it on whatever would last the month that could be stored at room temperature. Sugary cereal that I’d eat dry by the handful. Huge multipacks of cheap granola bars and chips. All things that cut up my mouth, now that I think about it.
