How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (24 page)

Her reaction was instantaneous. She
stood up a little taller. Her shoulders went back. And she smiled.
It was how she’d held herself at fifteen…back before he’d screwed
up…back before her dad had told him to stop salivating over Cory
like she was dessert. And, okay, he hadn’t been able to so he may
have sort of pulled away from her until their senior year and then
he’d really screwed up, but her dad wasn’t in the clear as far as
blame went.

It was likely why he was helping
tonight.

That was decent of him—as long as he
fixed all his ghostly pranks.

“You know, it’s my fault you didn’t
date in high school.”

Her shoulders dipped a bit. “Oh?” He
might have to read her body language instead of relying on what she
said.

“I told all the guys at school that
you were mine and to back off.”

She rolled her shoulders back and
then folded her arms as her eyes narrowed. “You dated a bunch of
other girls senior year.” Okay, well he hadn’t needed body language
to translate “pissed.”

“To make you jealous. It clearly
didn’t work.”

She relaxed again and tilted her
head while smiling. “It did.”

He took a step toward her and when
she didn’t move, he took a few more until they were toe-to-toe, and
he slipped his hand into hers. “So, what do you think?” he asked,
nodding at the walls.

In answer, she towed him over to the
corner with the sleeping bags and dropped down cross-legged. He
settled down behind her, with a bent leg on either side of her and
dragged her back against him as he leaned into the
corner.

“I think it’s a lot less haunted
than I expected.” She pulled the top off the canister of red
licorice and pulled a stick out. “I brought one of these
too.”

“Oh, so we should be set for
tonight, huh?”

“Yup.” She unzipped a sleeping bag
and dragged it across them as she turned sideways and settled into
his arms and against his chest. Cory took a bite of the licorice
and then offered him a bite. “It’s funny that a fake haunting
finally exorcised the ghosts of this place.”

He slid his hand along those soft
jeans of hers. It felt as good as he’d expected. “You know
seventeen year old me may have made a few mistakes, but I see where
he was going with this.” He slid his hand along her hip and up to
her waist. She used to be ticklish when they were kids. It’d be
interesting to see if she still was.

She grinned and took another bite of
the licorice. “Seventeen year old you would have got shut down if
he was going where you’re going.”

“Seventeen year old me would have
had a butt full of buckshot. It turns out I’m not as sly as I
thought I was. I didn’t actually tell anyone I was doing this
tonight—I’m not sure how they pieced it together. I probably wasn’t
that sly back then either.” She gave him the last piece of the
licorice but then got her fingers out of the way before he could
bite them like he’d intended. “So, you think the Miller’s place
would look good painted egg-shell, huh?” He’d always planned on
painting it whatever she bet on—for obvious reasons.

“No. I think the Matthews’ place
would.” She turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. She
tipped forward and kissed him lightly. “I didn’t bring pajamas to
the sleepover.”

“Me neither. But at least we’ve got
licorice.” He wrapped his arms around her. This felt as good as
that night ten years ago hadn’t. He slid his hand up along her
back, just under that red shirt of hers. “I like this shirt. It’s
so frilly…and you.”

“Me?”

He shrugged. “Sexy and sweet all
rolled together.”

Her smile was huge, and her next
kiss was part lunge and knocked his head against the wall, but he
didn’t mind.

When she pulled back and looked over
her shoulder at the licorice, he shook her lightly. “Hey, save some
for later. We’ll be rationing by morning at that rate.”

“Only if we stay up all night eating
them.” She lifted up one of the big down pillows he’d grabbed off
his bed. “I’m glad you brought pillows.”

“You can’t have a sleepover without
a pillow fight.” They might, however, manage a sleepover without
sleeping. He nodded down at the sleeping bag next to them. “These
sleeping bags zip together…,” he pulled her closer to kiss her
again, “…into one large bag.”

She smiled against his lips. “That’s
pretty sly,” she murmured into their next kiss.

“You like that, huh?”

In answer, she kissed him much
longer while cradling his face in her hands. Yep, he might be able
to figure out her body language just fine. In a year, they might be
struggling with her egomania instead of a low self-esteem if
everything went according to his plans.

Just in case she couldn’t tell, he
said, “I love kissing you.”

“Mm hm. You’re not doing the kissing
booth thing this year,” she said, kissing him again.

“No, I’m not.” He liked how
possessive she sounded. “I only did it last year because your mom
said you’d be back in town by then, but you came back the week
after.”

“You were going to make me pay to
kiss you?”

“Yes, but now they’re all free.” He
kissed her. “Prices slashed.” He kissed her again. “All inventory
must go.”

She was laughing too much to kiss
him, and she ducked her face down into his shoulder.

He tangled his fingers in her hair,
and it felt so good that he actually sighed. He’d touched her hair
when they were kids all the time. It had seemed so fascinating that
it’d curl all on its own and also that it was so soft. That hadn’t
changed.

“You know this might be the first
bet that I’m glad I lost,” he said.

Cory lifted her head and looked
straight into his eyes. “Yeah, but in the future, all bets are off.
Between us. No more.”

She was probably right. This bet had
gone horribly wrong on them. Both times. Well, this time it might
not have been quite as bad. It was turning around. Twisting, he
laid her on her back on the open sleeping bag as he stretched out
beside her. Cory was worth waiting two decades for. Maybe they were
both too stubborn and too hurt to meet in the middle. Maybe they
needed a good fake haunting.

He traced his finger down along her
jawline, and she stared into his eyes the whole time. For the first
time in a decade, he could swear she trusted him.

“Do you like your new house?” he
asked.

He thought she blushed. It was hard
to tell in the dim light. “Are you sure?” she whispered. She was
still meeting his gaze. He pushed curls back from her temple and
rubbed the back of his fingers down her cheek. He’d never get tired
of touching her—not in another two decades—not in a
lifetime.

“Duck, I’ve been sure since we were
five. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

She glanced at the walls. “I don’t
know…maybe I’ll paint the whole thing pink.”

“I bet you won’t,” he said,
grinning, and tipping forward to brush his mouth against
hers.

“No more bets.” She was still
smiling when she said it and when she licked her lips, he followed
seventeen year old Clay’s instinct to lean forward and lick her
lips too.

He pulled back half an inch to say,
“I bet we can chase the rest of the ghosts from this place
tonight.” On the off chance any pseudo-ghosts were still around,
they should dim the lantern because there wasn’t a single set of
drapes on any of these windows. He couldn’t quite figure out how
they’d done the thing with the doorknob, but her dad was going to
have to deal with that. Clay planned on having his hands full for
the next few days—literally and figuratively.

She smiled and looped her arms
around his neck, tugging him towards her. “I bet you’re
right.”

Not a day goes by that I don’t pity
my husband. I wouldn’t trade places with him for the world. He has
to deal with a crazy wife. I can only assume she makes up for what
she puts him through in other ways. You can all assume that. I know
I do. And, just so you know, I don’t clean. Thanks, honey, for
everything.

Thank you, Twitter, for giving me
beautiful ways to procrastinate and being an awesome resource for
actual, genuine, freaky research. Only on Twitter could you find an
expert in the occult at two a.m. to explain the use of blood in
ceremonies and the difference between pentagrams and pentacles.
Well, maybe in Vegas and New Orleans too, but the point is: Twitter
rocks. Special shout-outs to (by username): AbbyMumford,
AmandaStretch, AmberArgyle, AmeDyckman, AndyBrokaw, Bethyo,
ElisaNuckle, HollyWillNot, Kathy_Collins, LeftyWritey, Meleye,
Rcowsert, RidingNWriting, ScatteringAshes, ShelliStevens,
Silent_Pages, and StaceyMay. I’ll catch the rest of Twitter in the
next book. Just kidding.

I have awesome betas, but a few
would read my grocery list if I begged. Thanks, Jaime, Sarah, Jay,
Heidi, and Mom.

Jenn and Andy, thanks for making
editing fun.

Cerridwyn publishing, this has been
an amazing experience. Thank you.

My agent lets me get away with
murder—if your definition of murder is writing long rambling emails
that focus on odd, prime numbers and have a screechy panicked tone.
Thank you, Sarah Yake, for helping me navigate the publishing world
with what remains of my sanity and for actually reading those
emails.

Finally, thank you to all those
people who make Halloween awesome. The haunts, the pumpkin patches,
and the costumes—all of it—thank you. Thank you especially to those
who leave the light on and answer the door. No tricks…you’re a
treat.

Wendy Sparrow lives in the Pacific
Northwest with two quirky kids and an amazing husband. She’s an
autism and obsessive compulsive disorder advocate and was featured
in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Raising Kids on the Spectrum. Her
love of telling stories was much less appreciated at a young
age—which is why she’s heard the “Boy Who Cried Wolf” so many times
she could have written the screenplay at age five. She believes in
the Oxford comma, the pursuit of cupcakes, and that every story
deserves a happily-ever-after.  Most days she can be found on
Twitter (
@WendySparrow
) where she’ll talk to anyone who
talks back and occasionally just to herself.

For more information, please visit
her website,
http://wendysparrow.com

Look for these titles by Wendy
Sparrow

From Cerridwyn
Publishing
:

Now
Available
:

The Teacher’s Vet

Coming
Soon
:

A Little Moon
Madness
(Mid October 2013)