Page 43 of Haunted Spurs

Most of all, I need to stop thinking about the way something in my chest twisted when he told me about his past.

How does he do it? How does he manage to stay so ridiculously optimistic all the time, no matter what?

I wonder what it must feel like to be him. What it would be like to have a brain capable of finding something good in everything. To be so bright, so full of life, able to shrug off the weight of the world like it’s nothing. To make friends with literally everyone... or even inanimate objects, apparently. Because I’m absolutely convinced he could.

I can picture it perfectly: Ron alone in a room, giving an inspirational speech to a dull pencil. Yeah. That feels very him. Completely ridiculous.

Dammit. Just imagining it almost makes me smile.

“It’s... wow,” I finally answer, latching onto the first words I can find to pull myself out of the dangerous spiral of my own thoughts. But even to me, my voice sounds distant.

He, however, seems completely satisfied with that answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him nodding, his expression lighting up with almost boyish pride.

I turn toward him. Our eyes meet in the dim light of the room, and instantly, I feel myself slipping again. Falling straight back into that endless blue of his eyes. My pulse kicks up hard, merciless and impossible to control, because—God—I’ve just remembered that we’re going to be sleeping in the same room for the next few weeks.

And then, suddenly, an utterly absurd noise.

Followed by a piercing female scream that rips through the silence of the house so violently I nearly jump out of my skin.

Ron and I stare at each other, eyes wide. Ollie, who had been peacefully sniffing the baseboards, suddenly snaps to attention, ears perked and nose pointed toward the half-open door.

“What was that?!” Emma’s voice echoes from the hallway, sharp with alarm as she rushes out.

“It came from downstairs,” Ron says immediately.

I step up beside him. “Did someone already pee themselves?” I murmur.

Ron stops dead. He turns to look at me, surprise quickly melting into a wicked, lopsided grin.

“So you can crack a joke when you want to, Queen of Darkness?”

I glare at him and shove his shoulder lightly as we both head for the door.

He pretends he’s been hit, staggering theatrically against the doorframe, one hand pressed to his chest as he chuckles under his breath.

“Clown,” I whisper, shaking my head.

On the wooden stairs, halfway down to the first floor, Sierra and Dustin are making out with alarming intensity, tangled together as they stumble their way down.

Heavy sighs, muffled groans. Those two clearly don’t know the meaning of decency.

Everything erupts in an instant.

Footsteps thunder up and down the stairs as everyone rushes out of their rooms.

“Did you guys hear that scream too?!” Josh’s voice cuts through the chaos as he appears, closely followed by Lizzie, her hair visibly messy and her cheeks flushed.

“Yeah,” Sam says, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Then he does a double take, frowning as he looks his teammate up and down. “Wait a second… what the hell are you doing without a shirt on?”

Josh is, in fact, shirtless, his unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely from one hand. He’s adjusting his belt buckle while trying very hard to look alert and professional.

“That’s not relevant right now,” he huffs, running a hand through his messy hair.

He was clearly already occupied with Lizzie… judging by her furious blush and the guilty little laugh she’s trying to hide behind her hand.

“Dude…” Sam crosses his arms over his chest, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. “So that’s what you needed those twenty minutes for—carrying bags upstairs.”

Right beside me, I hear Ron clear his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. I know him well enough by now to recognize that look—he’s about to drop one of his ridiculous innuendo jokes.