Page 4 of A Guide to Ghosting (Monsters of Moonvale #3)

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I glare at the back of the guy’s head as he goes back outside. What a jerk, snapping at Emma like that, when he’s the one that’s wrong about the house being haunted.

I’m very real.

A surge of annoyance made me trip him. It was childish, but worth it to see the flicker of confusion on his face when he ran into me. There’s something about this guy that rubs me the wrong way. He looks familiar, but that’s probably because he shares the same coloring and features as his sister. It’s a relief that he’s her brother, and not her boyfriend. If he stayed, it would ruin all the effort I put into finding a decent buyer for my home.

Despite the petty satisfaction I feel after tripping him, I shouldn’t make a habit of it. He may not believe in ghosts, but his sister does. I don't want Emma scared away the day she moves in. I told myself I'd stay in the guest room and give her time to settle in, but it’s hard not to watch the person I’m going to live with for the foreseeable future.

Plus, she's the most interesting person I've encountered since I died.

Emma was a breath of fresh air when she toured the house the first time—all sweetness and sunshine with her bouncing black curls and adorable pastel sundress. I never gave credence to the idea of someone having an aura, but I could sense she was exactly what I’d hoped for.

Maybe that’s another part of being a ghost—picking up on someone's vibes.

It doesn’t hurt that Emma is gorgeous. If I’m forced to have a housemate, why shouldn’t she be nice to look at? I’m not going to creep on her, but there was an unexpected flicker of interest when I saw her. I hadn’t considered I might not be completely straight until a few months before I died, so I’ve never dated a woman. My immediate thought when I felt that attraction was maybe she's why I’m still here.

Logically, I doubt the universe gives a shit about my bisexual awakening, but my reckless, hopeful heart can’t stop wondering if fate brought this woman into my path for a reason.

Thoughts of wooing Emma were behind my ridiculous decision to bake her cookies to entice her to buy the house. It was a foolish risk that could’ve scared her away. Instead, it delighted her so much that she’s here now, moving in. I’ve been on edge for weeks, waiting for her to move in and thinking of all the things I could do to befriend her.

After the romantic fantasy gave way to practicality, I realized I know nothing about her other than she likes to bake and wear cute clothes. Oh, and she seems to believe in ghosts. She thinks I’m an old lady, which is weird, but I’ll take it. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.

So yeah, it’s hard not to lurk and try to deduce more information about Emma. For all I’ve despaired about losing ownership of my house, the reality of not being alone after months of isolation floods me with overwhelming relief. I guess I was even lonelier than I thought.

I retreat to the guest room again, worried my emotional ass will ruin things by doing something like hug Emma or trip her brother again. The guest bedroom, like most of the house, still has a lot of the staging furniture and decor, so Emma must’ve included it when she bought the house.

I wonder if this is her first home. She seems like someone who’d want much more vibrant and eclectic things filling her house. Whatever the case may be, I’m grateful to have a bed to flop down on while I try to temper my excitement.

Now is not the time to go full haunting on her. Once her brother leaves, I’ll gradually introduce myself. It sounds like he’s spending the night, but he’ll be gone soon enough.

Thank god. For as sweet as his sister seems to be, he’s equally sour, with a perpetual frown twisting what would be a handsome face. I’ve spent enough time with asshole men to last a lifetime. Or an afterlifetime.

My eyes flutter closed and I let out a heavy exhale. I don’t need to breathe, and yet I still do. Maybe in a few hundred years I’ll stop trying to be a facsimile of a living person. The thought terrifies me. I don’t want to let go of what I was. Not for the first time, I wish this was all a dream. But no matter how many times I go to sleep hoping that I’ll wake up alive and well, that’s never the case.

No wonder there are so many stories about malevolent spirits. It’d be easy to go mad or become consumed with rage when the life you knew is dangled before you, but you’re never able to reach it.

For my sake, I hope that staying connected to my new housemate will stave off the anger and despair. It’s a lot of hope to pin on a stranger, but there aren’t any other options. If she’s not what I expected, I’m fucked.

I’m not sure at what point I drift off, but when I come back to consciousness, the room is dark. There’s only a sliver of light coming from the adjoining bathroom through a crack in the door.

That’s been happening more lately—one moment I’ll close my eyes and when I open them again, hours have passed. I cling to the thought that it’s sleep, even though it doesn’t feel the same. I can’t stomach the idea that I'm blinking out to nothingness for large chunks of time.Being a ghost is scary enough without diving deeper into existential dread.

The sound of the shower must’ve been what woke me up. Right, the brother is spending the night. I should get out of this room before he’s done and I end up trapped in here with him all night.

I tiptoe my way toward the door to the hall, shaking my head at myself when I remember I don’t have to be sneaky. He can’t hear me. I relax and take a few normal steps, but as I reach out for the doorknob, a low, masculine groan filters into the bedroom.

I freeze, heat erupting across my face and chest at the sound. My hands fly to my cheeks in surprise at the intensity of the sensation, and I swear I can feel warmth radiating from where I’m flushed. I can’t seriously be blushing from a slightly suggestive sound, can I?

Maybe I’m getting sick.

I snort at the ridiculous thought. Dead people can’t get sick. This is a normal reaction to having a stranger in my shower, making weird noises. That’s all.

A louder groan answers my thoughts, and I muffle a shocked squeak when heat spikes between my thighs this time.

Really? I tried watching porn and barely felt a tingle. I spent an hour trying to get off with my vibrator at the max setting. But this random dude in my shower is what does it for ghost me?

Unthinking, I drop one hand and slip it between my legs, gasping at how wet I am. When I brush a finger against my clit, I almost buckle at the surge of sensation. It's stronger than anything I’ve felt since dying.

What the hell is happening?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic to experience more than a flutter of arousal, but this is ridiculous.

He groans yet again, and I momentarily consider throwing caution to the wind and grabbing my vibrator out of the closet. With how turned on I am, I might not even need it. My body is thrumming with excitement, the sensation reminding me of when I was alive.

Wait. What if…

Adrenaline courses through me as I rush to throw the closet door open and look in the mirror hanging on the back of it, but it crashes just as quickly when there’s no reflection.

Nope. Still dead.

Fuck. Tears spill out of my eyes, and I blink them away, foolishly closing my eyes and praying that when I open them my vision will have cleared and I’ll see myself standing there. But there’s nothing.

The man in the shower moans, and the strange arousal his noises evoked is replaced with indignance. What is wrong with this guy? Why is he in there jerking off while he’s staying at his sister’s house? That’s gross and weird. As if his humorless personality wasn’t bad enough.

I vaguely register in the back of my mind that my rage has a lot less to do with the dude in the shower than the few seconds that I thought I was alive again, but it doesn’t matter. He’s the one who made me feel with his stupid, sexy moans.

I storm to the bathroom door and yank it open, uncaring if the man inside notices. Let it scare him. Maybe that’ll make him leave tonight.

I’m greeted by a cloud of steam, but no sign that he’s noticed me. His back is turned away from the door, and he’s leaning on one hand against the tile wall as water cascades down his back. The glass shower doors do little to obscure him, and my gaze follows the path of the water down to his ass and thighs, my breath hitching as warm arousal pools in my belly.

God, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been around a naked man in years, but seeing his thick body makes me squirm. My hand drifts toward my pussy and I curse and tear it away.

Please don’t tell me my new kink as a ghost is voyeurism.

I should leave. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing in here. Instead of turning around and trying to wipe the image of the burly man in the shower from my mind, I take another step closer, my thighs slippery from my arousal.

I’m so focused on the shifting of his back muscles and the curve of his ass that I almost don’t notice what’s in the mirror. He didn’t turn on the bathroom fan, allowing steam to fill the space. Enough steam that I can see the shape of my body like a shadow in the clouded mirror.

Holy shit.

I gasp and stumble, knocking over a bottle of soap sitting next to the sink. The man tenses, and I drop into a crouch so I’m not in front of the mirror as he turns over his shoulder at the sound of the bottle falling over. Holy shit , I think again, echoing my thoughts from a moment ago as I see the front of him. He’s big everywhere, from his broad chest and solid arms to his wide, soft stomach that draws my eyes down to the thick cock hanging between his thighs. A large, thick, flaccid cock.

Oh god, he wasn’t masturbating. Somehow that makes me watching him even creepier. I need to get the hell out of here, but I’m frozen as I stare at him, my eyes firmly glued on his crotch. His brow furrows, but after a moment he turns back into the spray, groaning as he rolls his shoulder. He squeezes body wash into his palm and lathers it between his hands, making small pained sounds as cleans himself.

He’s in pain, not jerking off.

Get out of here, pervert! I mentally scream at myself. And I’m about to, when the scent of his soap hits me and memories flood into my mind.

A charming grin and sparkling dark eyes locked on mine from across a table. Thick, strong arms enveloping me. The promise of something good finally coming into my life as he says goodnight, and the heartache when I never hear from him again.

I stumble backward, crashing into the towel rack.

This man! He’s the one that ghosted me!I knew there was something so familiar about him, but I didn’t recognize him without the thick beard.

What was his name? Noel? Noah?Shit, it doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here.

Shame and embarrassment wash over me as I flee, hiding in the bedroom closet as I fight to even out my breathing. What is wrong with me? I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe Emma’s brother is the same guy who was the final nail in my dating coffin.

The shower shuts off, and a minute later, heavy footsteps pass the closet door and head out into the hallway. My nonexistent heart stops racing after a few minutes of chastising myself for my creepy behavior. I expect him to fling open the door at any second and somehow catch me hiding in here, but when he doesn’t return, I crack the door open. Seeing the coast is clear, I sneak out into the hallway. There’s no way I’m staying in the closet all night with the man who crushed my foolish heart sleeping on the other side of the door.

I’m not sure where the heck he went, but I get as far from the guest room as I can, curling up on the ugly beige couch in the office. I close my eyes, attempting to shut out how fucked it is that Noah is here in my house. That doesn’t help, because in the darkness my mind conjures the image of his wet, naked body and thick cock. It takes forever to drift off into darkness again, my racing thoughts only succumbing to the void when I remind myself that he’ll be leaving soon.