Page 29 of Not That Complicated

“Wait,” I called after him. “Adam!”

It was too late. He was already out of the kitchen and heading for the stairs.

CHAPTER NINE

I chased after him. “Youcoming here was a ruse to get a look at a grisly true-crime location, wasn’t it?” I said to his beautiful round arse as I followed him up the stairs.

He snorted and to my surprise went the wrong way, walking straight into the guest room. Hands on hips, he stared at the bed. The covers were tossed aside from when I’d scrambled down to answer the door, and the pillows were askew. “Ray, did you tidy up the crime scene and re-lay the carpet? Were you allowed to?”

“No. I don’t know if I’m allowed to. I think I am? Detective Nash said the scene was ‘released’, anyway. You’re in the wrong room. This isn’t the master bedroom.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s the guest room.” Thank goodness. If Adam thought this was the master bedroom, it meant that Fraser hadn’t been crass enough to have sex with his boy toy in our bed.

Wait.

If they didn’t do it in my bedroom then they must have had sex in… My attention tracked over to the guest bed and I bristled.

Adam blocked my view, turned me around by the shoulders, and manhandled me out onto the landing.

“Did you—” I began indignantly.

“Nope. Of course we didn’t. Come on.”

“I wasjustin—”

“In here? Let’s go.” He pushed me into my room, reaching over my shoulder and groping for the light switch. Adam walked right up to the hole and peered down. I bumped into his back but kept him between it and me.

“He was right there?” Adam said.

“The whole time I’ve been living here,” I confirmed. “I used to do my yoga there.”

Adam let out a noise that sounded dangerously close to a giggle. “Unfortunate,” was all he said.

“Yeah.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” When I didn’t reply, he added, “If you do, you must be soooo embarrassed.”

“Stop talking,” I growled. “Or you’re going in the hole.”

“Think about what that poor guy has seen. Think about what he’s heard.”

It had crossed my mind.

I’d decided for my sanity and in the service of absolute denial that I didn’t believe in ghosts as such, but a person’s bedroom was their private place. Their inner sanctum. It was where you should be able to do whatever you want. Snore, cry, be vulnerable. Have an ill-fated pity party.

Be intimate.

All of the above without an uninvited audience.

“Think how many times he’s had to hear you having a wank,” Adam said, and yelped when I poked him in the kidney.

“And how many times he had to watch you bounce around on my boyfriend like a cowboy on a wild mustang, homewrecker.”

Adam whirled around to clutch at me when I poked him, like we were kids pretending to push each other into a puddle or something.

“If only the ghost had been able to communicate,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “Think of the pain that could have been spared.”

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