Page 24 of The Ghost of You

She peeks up at me through her long lashes. “Yeah. I’ll even make you some tea. Give you a towel.”

I follow her inside. My mind fighting to keep this moment between us PG. I can’t keep letting these thoughts in my head control me. She must be ten years younger than me. And not what I need to get involved with. I need a one-night stand. One and done. Something to get this lingering need out of my system for a bit. And it will be too awkward to do it with my neighbor.

I don’t want to sit anywhere because my clothes are soaked, so I stand awkwardly in the entryway waiting for her to grab me a towel.

Brutus doesn’t give a shit and flops down right on the rug in her living room.

She walks out with a towel and a pair of men’s sweatpants. “Um, do you want to shower? It might warm you up a bit more.”

I didn’t even realize I was shivering. “Uh, sure. Hopefully we don’t make a habit out of using each other’s showers.”

Her cheeks flame and I internally kick myself for saying it. It was supposed to be a joke but I get she might have taken it in a sexual way.

I grab the towel and head into her bathroom, forgoing the awkward conversation. I shower quickly using her lemon shower gel she had left in my shower last time. I dry off with a towel nowhere near as nice as mine, reminding me she still has one of my towels. I pull on the sweats she left me and can barely squeeze into them. I look at the t-shirt she gave me and know it won’t fit. I decide to leave it off and adjust myself so you can’t see the outline of my dick in the sweats.

I walk out of the bathroom and find Anna leaning over in front of the fireplace. I don’t have the right pants on for this. She is wearing tiny denim shorts and her ass is peeking out of the bottom. The floor creaks and she stands up.

“Hi. Got the fire going.”

That’s when I notice she took her hoodie off and is wearing a tight tank with a corset-like middle. It’s pushing her tits up. And because she was leaning over it looks like her nipples are about to pop out.

Her hands go to her chest as her eyes follow mine. “Oh my god. I forgot I was wearing this.”

“What are you wearing?” I grit out, trying to keep any sound of need out of my voice.

“Oh this, I—ugh, well my friend Seraphina gave it to me.” She looks around the room anywhere but at me. “I’m going to go change.”

She rushes past me, and I hear her cursing in her room. A few minutes later, she stumbles out in striped pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. She walks into the kitchen and pulls two cups out of a cupboard as soon as a kettle starts whistling.

She hands me a cup. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, her eyes playing the same game mine were earlier, coasting over my body until they get stuck on my dick. Luckily, I’ve managed to keep it soft but these pants are not forgiving and I can tell she can see the outline of it.

I cough. “Should we sit in the living room? Warm up by the fire?”

Her eyes snap back up to mine. “Yeah. Absolutely,” she says over-energetically.

I shake my head at her as she walks past and sits on the couch first. I sit on the opposite end, propping one arm on the back of the couch and one leg on the cushion.

“So how was your night?” she asks awkwardly.

“Wet.”

She flattens her lips and nods. “Right.”

I can tell she is having trouble finding a way to make conversation. “What about you? The bar busy?”

She shrugs. “More or less. Not like last weekend when I made a killing. But I still made out well. The outfit helped.”

“I’m sure it did,” I say, thinking of the man that left her house Sunday afternoon, a flare of jealousy overcoming me.

She blushes again and I wonder why it’s just not a permanent fixture on her face. “Shoot. Umm, this conversation just reminded me that I didn’t put my tips away. Do you mind if I go do that? I’m kind of meticulous about it.”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks.” She sets her tea on the coffee table and grabs her purse from the foyer. She hustles to the sunroom in the back of her home. I look over at Brutus who is snoring away on the floor. I should head back home but being in here is comforting, unlike the home I am supposed to be building for myself.

I wonder how she does it. I can tell something happened to her. I can see the same sorrow in her eyes I look at in the mirror every day, yet somehow she seems to have moved on, lived. Where I am stuck in the same place, doing the same thing every night.

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