Page 156 of Specters & Spotlights

And now that he’d showered, the lingering scent of powder and spirit gum was gone. All she could smell was him.

Her hands slid under the hem of his sweater, fingers finding familiar territory. He answered by pressing her tighter against the counter, the kiss deepening until her knees actually buckled a little, traitors as they were.

It was all there—in the way he touched her, in the way she leaned into him like gravity had shifted and she was being pulled toward her own personal sun.

She melted. Fully. Willingly.

And then⁠—

BZZZT.

Her phone buzzed against the counter like it was possessed.

They both froze.

Graham rested his forehead against hers, sighing. “If that’s Nick again…”

Elise didn’t move. “It’s definitely Nick again.”

BZZZT.

BZZZT. (Because of course he was texting in threes, like some kind of theatre poltergeist.)

She unlocked her phone with one hand, still tucked in Graham’s arms with the other.

Nick

Not to interrupt whatever scene you’re currently acting out in your kitchen, but the rest of us are at the bar. Waiting. Starving. Judging.

She suppressed a snort as she turned the screen toward Graham, who squinted dramatically at it.

“We should probably go,” she said, though she made no move to actually leave. Graham’s hands were still warm around her waist, his face inches from hers, and the ghost light cast just enough glow to make the moment feel perfectly staged.

“We definitely should,” Graham agreed.

Then he kissed her cheek. Slowly. Sensually. Like punctuation on a sentence he hadn’t finished saying.

Elise arched a brow. “They’re waiting for us.”

“I know,” he said, brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re right.”

Another kiss, this time to her jaw. “We should.”

One more, grazing just below her bottom lip. “...Eventually.”

She tried to glare at him. It didn’t take. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m affectionate.”

“You’re distracting.”

“I’m persuasive.” He just smiled—that lazy, infuriatingly affectionate smile—and bent to kiss her again.

This time, they gave up the pretense.

There was no teasing left. No banter. No space.

Just the hush between heartbeats and the pull of muscle memory and want.