Page 62 of Love at First Fright

Reality crashed back in—a cymbal smash right behind my skull.

What the hell was I doing?

When I gave Brad his body back—and I had to give it back, very, very soon—he’d wake up confused. Maybe he’d remember fragments. Maybe he wouldn’t. But either way, Bad Brad would return, and he’d crush whatever tiny, fragile thing I’d built here.

Charlie would be hurt. Again.

Because of me.

Because I was selfish and stupid and so desperately lonely that I’d hijacked someone’s body just to have a conversation. Just to feel warm skin and taste tea and stand close to someone who smelled like summer fruit.

“I should shower,” I blurted.

Charlie blinked. The spell broke. “Oh. Right.”

Was that disappointment crossing his face?

My throat tightened.

“By the way, we should use the bathroom at the end of the second-floor corridor,” I added quickly. “The one with the blue tiles. Hot water’s best there.”

And it’s the least haunted, by far. Much, much safer than the first-floor bathroom, unless you fancy sharing a tub with the woman who drowned there.

“Alright. Thanks.” Charlie pushed off from the counter, creating more distance between us.

Good. Distance was good. Distance was necessary.

“No,” I said. “Thank you.”

He frowned, glasses slipping down his nose—those gold wire rims catching the kitchen light. “For what?”

I caught myself. Blinked.

For this moment. For talking to me. For being kind to a complete dickhead. For existing in this house and making me feel something other than endless, crushing boredom. For smelling like summer fruits. For reminding me what it felt like to be alive.

“For the tea,” I said. “Of course.”

Charlie wrinkled his nose. “Umm… okay. Anytime.”

He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Fair enough.

I forced Brad’s legs to move. One foot in front of the other. Away from Charlie, away from that gorgeous, confused face and those perfect lips.

Every step hurt. I desperately wanted to turn Brad’s body around. To cross back to Charlie, crowd him against the cabinet, test out exactly how much these muscular arms could lift. Wrap those long legs around Brad’s waist and—

Stop it.

I marched up the stairs. Down the corridor. Into Brad’s assigned bedroom.

The door shut behind me with a soft click.

I released my hold on Brad’s consciousness. Let it snap back like a rubber band.

His body crumpled onto the bed. Out cold.

He’d wake up thinking he’d taken a nap. Hopefully, the guilt would keep him quiet about the missing time. Hopefully, he’d be too confused to mention anything to Charlie.

Hopefully.