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She chuckled. “You’re…”
“Damn right, you do, sweet cheeks,” the ghost said.
Caley stopped dead in her tracks, which caused me to stumble. “What’s got you blushing?”
I righted my stance, raised my hand to my face and, to my horror, my cheeks were warm. “I’m not blushing. I-I-I’m hot.”
“Unless you somehow turned into a lesbian and have fallen for your best friend, you’re acting weird.”
“I do love you.” At her widened eyes, I laughed. “But I don’t want you in the sack. Seriously, I’m just hot.”
The ghost’s voice deepened. “Ah, a way to grab your attention, I see.”
The little purr hanging off his tone made my stomach flip-flop. Clearly, I craved some attention and needed to get some in a bad way if I reacted in such a heated way to a non-living person.
I shoved the ridiculous reaction away and focused back on Caley, falling into stride with her. “Who’s the guy I’m hooking up with tonight?”
“He’s just your type.” She wiggled her brows. “You’re going to thank me later.”
“What do you mean my type?” I liked men, all types of them, and I’d never confine my options into a little box. Caley had apparently taped the box shut and shipped the package.
“He’s a pro baseball player and is home visiting his family for a couple days.”
“A pro, huh?” Maybe I had fooled myself into believing I didn’t have a type, because hearing baseball player made my interest rise. Images of skintight white pants and a scrumptious ass filled my mind.
“Yeah, he’s got the looks too.” She nudged her shoulder into mine. “And the money.”
“Women,” the ghost muttered.
I ignored the ghost like the ghost he was, turned onto Beale Street and Coyote Ugly Saloon appeared. A line of people outside meant an hour of waiting. Not as if I thought we’d have to wait. I had Caley with me, after all.
She snatched up my hand, yanking me forward, and hurried her steps. “Brandon,” she called out.
Two men turned toward her, and evidently, Caley knew my type better than I did, since either of the men would have fallen into the fantasy category.
“I’m so glad y’all came,” Brandon said.
Caley gave one of her pageant smiles. “We’re glad y
ou asked us to come.”
“You must be Tess.”
I glanced toward hunk number two. He held the typical all-American look—brown hair, blue-eyed, charming smile, and with his dimple, I suspected he could woo his way into anyone’s bed. Maybe even mine if he played his cards right tonight.
“I’m Trent.”
“Nice to meet you.” I ogled his trim body and handsome face and caught sight of the big white D on his navy-blue hat. “You play for Detroit?”
He nodded. “Both Brandon and I do. We were lucky enough to get a little time off to see the family.”
“Figures, Detroit sucks,” the ghost said.
I smiled, keeping my focus on Trent, ignoring the annoyingly sexy voice by my ear.
“Come on, let’s go get a drink.” Caley wrapped her arm in Brandon’s and approached the bouncer. If one good thing came from her charismatic pushy attitude, she’d always been quite the social butterfly. No one, including me, ever said no to her.
“Did you grow up here in Memphis?” I asked Trent.
