Page 42 of Haunted Spurs

She clears her throat, looking down at the floor for a second before meeting my eyes again, proud and stubborn as ever.

“Well, I mean it. You’ve got loyal friends, Ollie seems really attached to you, and... you’re good at what you do.”

I raise an eyebrow, immediately intrigued and ready to tease her.

“I didn’t know you had the slightest idea who I was or what I do for a living.”

“Well, I put two and two together when you mentioned Grant Ashford,” she counters, lifting her chin with a knowing look and crossing her arms again. “Then I did my research, but... I already knew his manager was really good.”

“You’re going to inflate my ego to dangerous levels, Moon Goddess.” And yeah, she really is. I’m grinning like an idiot on the inside. I step closer, dropping my voice into a teasing whisper. “Careful now. Keep this up and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Oh, please.” She huffs, her gorgeous face twisting into an exasperated expression so dramatic it makes me laugh out loud.

“So,” I say, nodding toward the door. “Care to go see our love nest?”

Selene takes a breath and shoots me a glare, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Willers,” she says as she starts walking, “I officially take back everything I just said about you. You’re a complete idiot.”

13

Hysterical Screams and Half-Naked People

Selene

This place is gorgeous. Actually, no. This place is a fucking masterpiece.

Stepping over the threshold, I realize the master bedroom is by far the most beautiful, evocative room I’ve seen yet. The walls are lined with dark wood wainscoting, the ceiling is crossed with massive exposed beams, and the floorboards creak beneath my boots with an antique, almost musical sound.

I think I’m staring at everything with my mouth hanging slightly open, captivated by the decadent, majestic atmosphere. It’s so gorgeous that, for a split second, I almost forget I have to share it with Ron Willers.

For that exact reason, I force myself not to focus too much on the bed.

I make a superhuman effort not to look. I keep my gaze stubbornly fixed straight ahead, even though I can still see the towering wrought-iron bedframe and that dangerously inviting mattress in the corner of my vision.

The room has an en-suite bathroom, which is already a huge plus, but my favorite part is the massive bay window built into the back wall. It looks straight out onto the dark edge of the woods, and beneath it is a wide window seat covered in lavender pillows.

I can already picture myself curled up there with my laptop, staring out at the trees on rainy nights.

Actually, I can't wait to do it. A hot shiver of pure creative excitement runs down my spine. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long, long time.

No, I am absolutely never telling Jessica she was right.

"So, what do you think?"

Ron’s voice drifts over my shoulder. He sounds cheerful and enthusiastic, like a puppy begging for praise.

Meanwhile, I’m doing everything in my power to get him out of my head.

Which would probably be easier if he stopped talking for more than five consecutive seconds.

I take a deep breath.

I must not think about the fact that talking to him is actually... almost pleasant.

I must not think about how, a little while ago, I instinctively looked for comfort in his presence when I felt completely out of place around the other contestants. Or how I drifted closer to him without even realizing it, drawn in by his warmth.

And I absolutely cannot think about how intrigued I was to find out he likes reading and old legends.