Page 111 of Their Little Ghost

“I love hooking up with you,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, the sex is fucking incredible. But maybe we can talk tonight?”

“Talk?” I laugh and kiss his neck. Anything to shut him up. “We can talk anytime.”

My annoyance rises when he shrugs me off again.

“We’ve been dating for a few months, and I don’t know anything about you,” he says. “I mean, not really.”

What a fucking bore. He’s ruining the party vibe.

“What more do you want to know?” I sigh. “You know all there is to know. I’m on the cheer squad, I’m failing math, and I love Mexican food.”

“What about your family?” he prompts. “I’ve not met your parents yet. Every time I bring them up?—”

“There’s nothing to say,” I say sharply.

“What about the marks on your thighs? The cuts?” he says. “I’ve not asked about them before, but I’ve seen them.”

I shove his chest.

“Since when are you a fucking therapist?” I ask. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re at a party.”

“I’m worried about you,” he says. “I care about you.”

This always happens. Guys are supposed to fuck without catching feelings, but that doesn’t seem to be my experience. At the beginning, they’re happy to have sex with no strings, and then they keep wanting more from me. More I’m unwilling to give. Neediness is such a drag.

“You’re not my boyfriend, Max.”

“I’d like to be,” he says, his eyes shining with a false hope that I want to stamp out.

I don’t want a boyfriend. Ever. If anyone got close enough to know what I’m really like, they wouldn’t want to know me at all. They’d see how fucked up I am. How fucked up he’s made me. Staying surface level is best. Pretending is easier.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t do relationships,” I say, kissing his neck. “Aren’t you happy with things how they are?”

His face falls like a wounded puppy. It takes every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes.

“But I thought?—”

“You thought wrong,” I say, stepping away with a disappointed sigh. “I need a drink.”

Talk about clingy…

I return to the party and corner the local dealer. Typically, he’s run out of pills. Why tonight? I’m craving something to take the edge off, and lukewarm beer isn’t cutting it.

Laurie hurries to join me.

“Have you and Max had a fight?” she asks, masking her glee with fake concern after noticing us leave the forest separately.

Laurie is the cheer squad captain and the closest person I have to a best friend. Although she acts nice, she secretly hates me, along with anyone else she sees as a threat. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer is my motto.

“No,” I lie, not wanting to give her any ammunition. “We’re fine, and we’re not dating—remember? We’re keeping it casual.”

“Oh yeah,” she says. “I forgot your dad doesn’t let you date.”

I don’t add that it’s also because I don’t want to.

Up ahead, a blinding headlight cuts through the leaves. A few couples getting to third base scream as the car stops.

Fuck, I recognize the plate…