Page 5

W hen I finish getting ready, everyone is already crowded in the entryway. Ghost is doing the most, leaning against the far wall by the door like he’s having a GQ photoshoot—arms crossed over that broad chest that I know for a fact is fully tattooed. At this point, most of him is ink.

Like, who gave this man permission to be so infuriatingly attractive?

He put on a zip-up hoodie and his combat boots to complete the look. He’s like a walking urban legend himself.

“Take off that stupid mask before you scare the townspeople,” I toss, doing my best to act casual.

“Really?” He scans me from head to toe—bunny headband, flowy pink dress with puffy sleeves and corset bodice, thigh-high sheer white stockings, and platform Mary Jane shoes. “You gonna tell me what to do with your fluffy ears on?”

I make a face and take off my headband, then jump up to put it over his hood. He gracefully pushes off the wall, and he looks ridiculous, all terror in black with my bunny ears on. Still stupidly hot, though.

“Cute,” Ghost whispers ominously. “Keep playing with me, Princess. See where it gets you.”

Unimpressed Dev runs through the plan again, like we’re third-graders on our first field trip.

Kendra chimes in. “Ghost should narrate the footage.” She laughs, flipping her honey blond hair seductively as she looks at him. “Your voice gives me chills… the good kind.”

Ghost chuckles—a dark, raspy sound that I always loved—but doesn’t even glance back at her. “That so?”

“Oh my God, yes!” she almost moans.

I try not to scowl. Try being the keyword.

He notices. Of course he does, because those dark eye slits are always on me.

Kendra acts oblivious. “You could read IKEA bookshelf assembly instructions and I’d let you screw all my bolts,” she gushes, and I swear if she bats her lashes any harder she’s gonna lift off like a drone.

“Did he pay you to drive me crazy on this trip?” I ask venomously, hoping I don’t foam at the mouth.

She shakes her head, giggling like a hyena.

“You jealous, Bunny?” Ghost murmurs, lazy and sharp. “Didn’t think I was your type.”

He’s doing it again, without actually addressing the issue. That thing between us? It wasn’t nothing. He knows it. I know it. Everyone else knows it.

“I’m not jealous,” I snap, too fast. But my cheeks heat, betraying me. Goddammit.

“Mm. Sure.”

“Alright, everyone ready?” Nate asks, coming to my rescue once more. Seriously, I don’t know what I would ever do without his Golden Retriever persona.

We drive to town in the rental car to investigate, and in true Scooby-Doo fashion, we split into smaller groups. I’m paired with Ghost— obviously —because he can’t take no for an answer.

The town is straight out of a horror flick—quaint, too quiet, the kind of place where weird shit happens daily, but no one talks about it.

Old brick buildings line the streets, the sidewalks are cracked, and the locals?

Everybody is staring, which is fair. I can’t blame them.

With my full kawaii aesthetic and Ghost’s… whatever.

He walks beside me, hands in his pockets, exuding that big, silent, brooding energy that makes people intrigued but nervous.

“Can you just try to be more inviting?” I mutter as we stroll past an antique shop where an old woman glares at us like we just stole her grandson’s soul.

“You’re overly inviting with your pastel shit. We balance each other out.” His deep voice is amused. Always amused.

I roll my eyes. “You’re literally dressed like a serial killer.”

“Serial killers wish they looked this good.”

I groan. “Get over yourself, will ya? You’re like a Hot Topic metalhead tried summoning a demon but got the unpaid intern instead.”

He tilts his head slightly, and I know he’s frowning beneath his mask. But I also know he’s too cocky to be actually offended.

He exhales heavily, then mutters, “Little fucking brat.”

“That was a good one, admit it!” I laugh, cracking up at my own joke.

“Yeah, you got me good,” he replies in pure sarcasm.

We talk with a few locals, recording a bit.

Ghost doesn’t do much of the talking— shocker —but the mask alone makes people compelled enough to spill their guts.

It’s the usual lore—whispers of missing hikers, strange noises in the woods, and one old man who claimed he saw glowing eyes staring at him from his window one night.

Totally normal. Small-town folks love a spooky urban legend, and I eat it up.

Ghost, on the other hand, doesn’t share my enthusiasm. It’s like all he wants is to get me alone and talk about what happened between us, which I’m desperately trying to avoid. What can I even say to him? It’s easier to pretend like nothing happened.

Then we stop at the old-fashioned diner and get seated at the booth by the window. It smells like scorched bacon grease, black coffee, and a hint of mop water pretending to be lemon scented. It’s perfect.

“You’re not eating?” I ask after I order, noticing Ghost hasn’t gotten anything.

“Not hungry.” He shrugs. “I ate at the house earlier before you guys got there.”

This can be true. When Kendra, Nate, and I arrived from NYC, Ghost and Dev were already in our Airbnb. But I still feel the need to tease him a bit.

“It’s the mask, isn’t it? You don’t want to take it off in public.” I grin, enjoying this way too much. “What if I wanted to kiss you? Huh?”

“So you want to kiss me,” he purrs, smug as hell.

My brain stutters. Shit . I walked right into that.

“I—IF! Which I don’t!” I stammer, my face immediately heating up. “I was just asking, you know, for like, logistical purposes—”

Ghost leans in close, elbows on the table, his voice dropping into something darker. “Don’t worry, baby. The mask comes off to eat your pussy.”

What the hell did he just say?

Granted, that’s pretty vanilla coming from him. Let me tell you—that man has some mouth on him, alright. He used to say nastiness I’m not willing to even repeat and make it sound like a damn promise. But it’s been months since we spoke that way…

I kick him lightly under the table, which only makes him laugh—deep, throaty, completely unbothered. I hate that he knows what he’s doing to me. I hate it even more that I want him to keep doing it.

My face is on fire as I sputter, “You’re disgusting.” I kick again for good measure, a bit harder this time.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Aggressive. I like it.” Then, because he’s the worst , he whispers, “Fuck, I want you riding my face so badly.”

I malfunction. My brain? Error 404: Not Found.

I stare at him, speechless, my chest rising and falling rapidly as my thighs press together instinctively. He just sits there across from me, completely composed, like he didn’t just put that image inside my head.

And you know what? Yes, I would very much love to ride his face right about now. He could suffocate there for all I care.

“Don’t be such a prude, Bun-bun,” he mocks me. “You’ve ripped that mask off before to kiss me.”

Oh, he’s talking about this past New Year’s Eve. I don’t quite remember that night—everything is fuzzy, though I do know I woke up in his hotel room in the morning.

“You’re being extremely inappropriate,” I whisper, trying to sound stern. It’s the only half-coherent sentence I can manage. On the inside, I’m not okay. Not at all.

“I want to pin you down on that table and devour you right here for everyone to see,” he murmurs, calm as ever. “But I don’t do that, now do I? I think that’s pretty fucking appropriate of me, then.” He leans back like he didn’t just say that with his whole chest.

I clear my throat, desperate to collect myself, while squeezing my thighs tighter under the table. My body is betraying me.

“You’re squirming,” he says, watching me like a hawk.

“I’m not,” I lie, voice a little too tight.

“Right,” he smirks. “Like I don’t know how badly you want to climb over this table right now.”

I glare. “In your dreams.”

“Every fucking night, sweetheart.”

I huff, flustered. “God, you’re impossible!”

He leans in again, dropping his voice to something sinfully low. “Want me to stop?”

“Yes!” I almost whimper, weak and pathetic.

“Liar.” His voice sharpens, and I feel the mood shift. He gets cold. “You can’t just act like that never happened.”

“I don’t remember it,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You know that.”

“Well… but you do remember our calls, don’t you?”

He’s suffocating me with the truth, and he knows it. My throat goes dry.

“Can we not do this here?” I say quickly, trying to sound in control. “I need the restroom.”

He nods, and I bolt to the ladies’ room, slam the door shut behind me, and grip the edge of the sink just to breathe. My reflection stares back at me, face flushed, lips parted.

I dab cold water onto my cheeks, but it does nothing to fix the absolute mess he just made of me. My pupils are blown. My chest is rising too fast. My body is still humming.

God, I want him. Just like I always did. Perhaps even more now after losing him before…

I was trying to move on. I really did try my best. But all it took was him whispering like that , and I’m right back where I started.

Fuck!