How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead Page 14

  “Okay,” Cory said finally.

  He exhaled a sigh that sounded pathetic and all too relieved to him, but who knew what she thought. Odds were, it was the opposite of what he thought. Hell, he might end up with low self-esteem at this rate. She’d thought he was not only an ass back then, but a jerk this last year.

  “But not all night,” she said quickly. “And if you leave, I get to leave too.”

  “Why not all night?” He wanted all night. It might take all night for them to be on the same page. It might take him the first few hours just to convince her that he hadn’t been bullying her for half her lifetime.

  “I don’t want to stay up all night huddled in a corner waiting for a ghost to attack me. We’re not seventeen.” A little lower, she added, “We’re not twelve either.”

  “Bring a sleeping bag. I am. It’ll be like camping.” He’d even put carpeting in a few of the rooms he’d already painted. It should be relatively soft. He had a camping mattress he could bring along too.

  “Camping?”

  Oh, right, her parents weren’t the camping type. Her dad was fond of electricity in every form.

  “I’ll bring a sleeping bag for you,” he said. Actually, he had two that would zip together and make one big sleeping bag, but he’d play it by ear.

  “Okay.” She sounded so adorably suspicious…and not at all suspicious of the right things. “So, what time?”

  “Seven to seven. Same time as before. Only this time, you won’t have to tell your folks you’re staying the night at a friend’s.”

  She clicked her tongue and looked away. “They would never have believed that.”

  Okay, maybe he hadn’t thought that through. She wasn’t a sleepover type of girl in high school. Actually, his mom might have been right when he’d finally told her a few weeks back about what he’d done ten years ago…it might have been the dumbest idea he’d ever had.

  But he was a seventeen year old boy.

  And she was Cory.

  She made him blind, dumb, and stupid.

  “Okay, new terms means we have to shake on it again, right?” She squared her shoulders and turned to him with her hand out.

  “Duck, we’re adults, not kids.” He moved her hand away, leaned in, and kissed her. For their first kiss, it wasn’t bad—even if he kept it short so she wouldn’t back out of that night. When he pulled back, she kept her eyes closed for an extra second before she opened them, looking stunned. He’d wanted to put that look on her face since she’d turned twelve. He got to his feet, grabbing her book as he did. He was taking hostages this time. Though, if she didn’t show, he was going to go collect her. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be a chicken,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

  She pegged him in the back of the head with a pinecone.

  She’d dragged out her old high school backpack but she had no idea what to put inside. A change of clothes maybe. Not that she’d need it. There was no way she’d be taking off what she was wearing.

  She could bring snacks, but what if it was actually haunted, and it freaked her out so much she puked?

  Hopefully he had toilets installed, but she wasn’t planning on drinking a ton of water anyway.

  Her phone rang as she’d just decided to be prepared for anything and pack a change of clothes and her weight in red licorice.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said, cradling the phone against her face as she shoved things into the backpack. It was only six-thirty, but she was going to be there right at seven so he couldn’t ever accuse her of being chicken again.

  “Hey, we were thinking of taking you out to see a movie. I know you always seem to get a little depressed around this time of year.”

  She’d never told them why, but she had come home from the library that day a decade ago and shut herself in her room and cried for so long they’d thought she needed a shrink.

  “Uhh, no, I think I’ll pass,” she said.

  “Honey, if you’re going to mope around your apartment all night….”

  “No, umm, I’m busy. I’ll be busy.” You’d think at twenty-seven she could tell her parents what she was really doing, but they knew Clay’s mom. Everybody knew everybody’s parents in Rye Patch. The last thing she wanted was their parents getting together and having a good laugh over this.

  “Busy?”

  “Yep, I’ll be busy—keeping busy—doing things.” She wanted to bang her head against a wall. That didn’t sound suspicious at all.

  “Okay,” her mom said slowly.

  “You and Dad have fun. You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow. Well, tomorrow night.”

  She might need to sleep some of tomorrow to make up for tonight. It was a good thing she closed the bookshop on weekends. Though, with how busy she’d been lately, she might want to hire one of the high school kids to help out. Clay’s mom had even volunteered to watch the shop tomorrow—before Corrine had pointed out she was always closed on weekends. Maybe that had been a subtle hint she should be open on weekends too. Not that anything anyone did in the Matthews family was subtle. Clay and his mom were about as subtle as bricks.

  Indecipherable on the other hand.... Clay hadn’t made any sense since she’d come back here. And then he’d kissed her and knocked any sense she had out of her skull. For not being a long or serious kiss, it’d hit her like she’d stuck a fork in an outlet—something her father would have killed her for—long before electrocution did.

  “Cory?” her mom asked.

  “What?” She vaguely realized that there’d been the buzzing sound of speech coming from the phone while she’d been thinking about Clay’s kiss.

  “I said have a good time. I’ll let you go.”

  “Uhh, okay.” That was weird. Her mom had never let her off the hook for being so scatterbrained about plans before.

  “Night!”

  “Bye….”

  Weirdest call ever.

  She arrived there five minutes ahead of time and then sat there staring at the house. It looked nothing like the scary old Miller’s house had. It was hard to even see that house in what she was looking at. She hadn’t driven by in a couple weeks, but he must have been busy, it looked move-in ready—other than painting the outside. It really ought to be off-white.

  The door opened, and the light from inside the house silhouetted Clay as he leaned against the door frame with his arms folded.

  She got out of the car. “I’m not chicken. I’m just trying to figure out where to park.” Maple Street wasn’t a high-traffic street, but their church’s organist and her first grade teacher lived on it, and her car was going to be here—all night.

  Clay reached inside the house, grabbed a remote and opened the two car garage where she could see his truck was already parked. It felt weird to pull in beside his truck—domestic—like his and hers parking. She took way longer than necessary to shift it into park.

  The door from the garage to the house opened, and Clay stood there watching her as if he was waiting for her to bolt.

  Ten years ago, she’d been hesitant because she was more than a little spooked by the idea of spooks. She shouldn’t have even needed to prove she was a chicken back then. He’d known her long enough to know that she’d have to sleep with the light on if they watched anything even slightly scary.

  She was a little better today. Not much…but it’d been years since she’d had to sleep with the light on.

  Today, no ghost alive could compete with the fear of doing something stupid in front of Clay. They’d had an easy relationship up until they’d hit their teenage years. She’d called him her best friend. Now, she wouldn’t know what to call him, and she hadn’t for around fifteen years. She was going to be here all night, and she had no idea what he’d meant with that kiss.

  She’d never sealed a bet with a kiss.

  Then again, Clay had been the star attraction at the kissing booth last year. Even if she’d heard that most kisses were on his cheek or, in the case of their first grade teacher, on hi
s forehead, it still sounded like kisses didn’t mean anything to him.

  Corrine grabbed her backpack and got out slowly, watching him the whole time. She didn’t know what to make of him anymore. She’d never even considered the fact he’d intended to stay with her ten years ago. It didn’t make sense. Why would you bet someone they were too chicken to stay in a haunted house but then help them win the bet?

  “I’m only doing this because of the bet and because you stole my book,” she said—though she didn’t know why. Okay, well, she didn’t want him thinking she was going to be following him around for the rest of their lives.

  He nodded in the direction of the counter behind him. “I’ve got Dracula on the counter surrounded by garlic and a stake nearby as a warning. He’s not leaving until dawn.” He pressed the garage door button, and it was as if he was cutting them off from the outside world as it dropped. It sent a weird thrill down her spine.

  She traipsed across the garage nearly dragging the backpack. She’d been pigeon-toed as a kid, and she still had a goofy walk. For whatever reason he’d called her Duck…she had reason to be self-conscious.

  “Does everyone know why you call me Duck?” she asked, stepping on the first of the three steps going into the house.

  His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows drew together. Behind him, she could see the kitchen all lit up. If ever there was a house that looked less haunted, she hadn’t seen it. It looked like a mash-up of old Victorian and cozy modern, and it was lit up like it was noon. “Nobody ever asked. They knew we’d known each other practically from diapers. They must have assumed it was a nickname. You’re the first person who’s asked that I can remember.” He stared at her for a second. “Why?”

  She took another step up. It was time to be brave and exorcise those ghosts from her past. “Because it makes me feel….” Pathetic. Needy. Obvious. “Stupid.”

  “I should really stop then.”

  She nodded even if felt like she was losing something—that connection to him that said they’d known each other longer than anyone else they had relationships with.

  He shrugged. “I’m not going to.”

  She tried to look disappointed.

  “I earned the right to call you that.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Come again? You earned the right?”

  He stepped back so she could go past him, but he didn’t step back that far. She’d still have to turn sideways and be within a foot of him, facing him. Maybe he was still trying to intimidate her into welching out of the bet. When she slid in front of him, he stopped her right in front of him with a hand on her waist as his other hand grabbed the backpack from her hand. It felt like she’d stepped into the middle of the desert. Her whole body flushed with heat, and her mouth went dry.

  “Remember when I lost both my front teeth? I got my mouth washed out with soap for yelling ‘Duck’ after you when you swiped my bike overnight. My mom thought I’d said something completely different.”

  She smiled and relaxed. “You always had the better bike.”

  “I still do. I’m going through a mid-life crisis and bought a Harley a week ago.”

  “You’re going through a mid-life crisis at twenty-seven? Wow, your parents should take out a high life insurance policy on you.”

  His hand was still at her waist, and his thumb was rubbing across her hipbone making her tingle in ways that were far less friendly than this conversation. “You made off like a bandit when we were kids when it came to bikes. You knew you could swipe mine, and I’d let you…and you always had pink bikes so I couldn’t return the favor.”

  “That is why I picked pink bikes.”

  “Oh, I know it.”

  They dropped into silence, and silence when you’re only about eight inches apart was…charged. Her lips even itched as if they were remembering the kiss earlier. He was a good six inches taller than her so their mouths were over a foot apart, and he’d have to make the first move…but…why was she even thinking about this? He wasn’t. He was probably wondering why she was letting the heat out of his kitchen by lurking in the doorway.

  She went to move but his hand held her in place and then he did lean down and press his mouth against hers.

  Guys in Chicago had been far more interested in her than all of the guys in Rye Patch combined, so she wasn’t new to kissing, but it sure felt like her first time even though they’d kissed earlier.

  And this was not like their kiss earlier. His lips pushed hers apart, and his tongue brushed hers, and she felt the caress straight down to her toes.

  Whoa.

  At first, her brain short-circuited and all she could think was Clay is kissing me! Clay is kissing me! But then, that little voice inside her that was awfully good at keeping her from getting her heart broken said Clay lives here. You’ll be seeing him every day. If you mess this up, if you make a big deal of it, you’ll never live this down. He made close to five hundred dollars kissing last fall—of course he’s good.

  She pulled back and stared at him. “Why did you do that?”

  He looked stumped before he said, frowning, “Because I wanted to. You’re reading a lot more into my motives than is there…trust me.”

  If he’d dumped a bucket of ice water on her, it wouldn’t have shocked her as much as his words, and he’d once dumped a bucket of ice water on her, so she would know. Basically, he felt like indulging his hormones, and she was here. She looked back at her car. She had to get out of here. Bet or no bet, this was going to create all new ghosts in her life.

  “Whoa! Cory, that came out wrong. I swear.” He dropped the backpack and put his other hand on her waist to keep her from bolting.

  She blinked back the pin-pricks of tears and stared at his chest. “There was a way that didn’t sound like you’re a total bastard?”

  He sighed. “Come in. I swear…I’ll behave. Let me show you the house.”

  She waffled as she stood there.

  On the one hand, they’d already crossed a line. It’s not like they’d be seeing much of each other after he’d gone and done that, and there was the bet, and it was hard to make a quick escape when you’d parked in a garage. She’d be better off running out the front door and leaving her car behind. And maybe he had said it wrong—but he would had to have said it really wrong…and been saying everything wrong for half their lifetimes.

  On the other hand, this was Clay Matthews, and the last time he’d hurt her feelings she’d tried to disappear for an entire year before running away from home for good. She was an adult now, and adults didn’t run away from home. They ran like hell out the front door and away from the haunted house—the haunted house that had more ghosts than all of the east coast combined. She was wearing sneakers. If she took him by surprise, she could make it out his front door before he even caught on that she was running.

  And no one else knew about the bet.

  And there was no forfeit price on the bet.

  And when it came to her heart—all bets were off.

  He was about fifty percent certain he’d screwed up beyond repair. She’d been standing there, and he’d wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted to breathe. Delayed gratification wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. But, then again, she was reading most of his actions as being cruel. So, however she’d interpreted him saying, “I don’t have any other ulterior motives besides being in love with you,” it hadn’t been good.

  Her body went tense, and he knew he’d lost her…and then the lights flickered and went off.

  The whole house went dark.

  Cory yelped and jumped toward him, wrapping her arms around him. He caught her, hugging her. She’d always had a low tolerance for spooky things. She only read books like Dracula outside in the sunlight. It’d been why he’d thought of this ten years ago. Getting the girl he was hot for all jittery and in need of protection sounded ideal. Now, it sounded like the power must have gone off for the whole neighborhood or he had somehow screwed up on the electrical wiring,
but he had Cory in his arms, so even having to rewire the entire house sounded fine. Not ideal…but fine.

  “Hey…hey…hey…you’re okay, Duck, I’ve got you.” He grabbed her backpack and edged her in through the door, closing it behind him. It was good he’d lived and breathed this house for almost a year now, and that there wasn’t any furniture to trip over. Dropping her backpack to free up his hands, he put his arms around her.

  She had him in a bear hug, and she wasn’t about to let him go. He could feel her shivering. He stroked his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her. Wow, she felt good in his arms. He’d never been so grateful for the power going out. His chin rubbed against her hair and he hoped she wouldn’t notice if he pressed his lips against her head and breathed in the scent of her. Mmm. Cory. If they could stay right here, forever, that’d be fine by him.

  On the other hand, she was shivering, shuddering against him—and that wasn’t fine. Seeing her this scared made his gut wrench. And it was strange that the power was out.

  “Let’s go to the front window and see how far the power is out, okay?”

  She pulled back. Her swallow was audible in the dark house. “You think that’s all it is?”

  “Yeah, it’s a weird coincidence—probably.”

  “Really?” She sounded so adorably hopeful, but she was also pulling out of his arms.

  “Probably,” he said again. Geez, he was a bastard, but he’d take her spooked if it gave him enough time to explain. “C’mon. Let’s go the front window and see. You can stay holding on to me—I know this place blindfolded.” Actually, the front window was near the door. “You know what, we’ll go to the music room, it’s closer.”

  She kept one arm around his waist, and he kept his arm across her shoulders as he said, “Okay, see, here on my right is the granite countertops I put in last week. They’re nice. You’ll like them. I put in a double farmhouse sink. I know you once said you liked the one at my mom’s house.” He was rambling, but it was calming her down, and he was unlikely to say something utterly stupid while talking about this house. They shuffled slowly across the floor. “In a second, we’ll go off the tile onto the hardwood floors. This house actually had really nice hardwood floors if you can believe it. I tore almost everything else out—gutted it, but I left the floors.”