Ghost & Me: Supernatural Gay Romantic Comedy by Tonwand North

Author:Tonwand North [North, Tonwand]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tonwand North
Published: 2023-08-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

As I reach the first landing, I acknowledge that I’ll never look upon a billboard of Lucy Jewels with the same respect again, ever. With sweaty palms, I release the banister and slump on a stair, hissing, “I’m not a camel. Get off me.”

The icy limbs around my neck release, and Ghost falls at my side. “Jesus Christ, I almost died,” he groans, clutching his chest.

I’m pretty sure a dead man can’t die twice. But if his icicles ever cling around my neck in the dark like that again, I’ll give it my best shot.

Ghost gives a playful smirk. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Do what?” I ask, then realise he’s challenging me to race... up the stairs... on my butt?

“Ready, set, GO!” He bumps ahead.

“We’re not five!” I call. Plus, my racing pulse is still recovering from a lightbulb darkening my lifespan. I shake my head. “I’m not playing on the stairs.”

“Come on!” he taunts. “What are you waiting for? A new carpet?”

This is ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. He squeals and wafts when he gets stuck on a cobweb and I chuckle. “Fine.” I accept my new role as Ghost Hunter. Hugging the wall, I bump after him. Nothing weird about this at all.

At the top, heart thumping, I collapse in a heap, gasping for air. “That was fun.”

“Yes, you are,” Ghost says, looking into my eyes, causing a flutter in my stomach while I catch my breath. His gaze suddenly drops from mine. “You know, I’m sorry, I was... when we first met. It’s just that...”

“I get it.” I reassure the gloomy diamonds that struggle to look me in the eye. “It’s fine.”

I point to the web clinging to his static energy, and he shoots into the air, collides with the door and falls backwards. “Get it off. Get it off!” he squeals.

My fingers pass through his exterior and scoop the web from his onesie. After wiping it on my jeans, I turn the key in the lock.

His mischievous smirk returns as he skips inside, asking, “Panic attacks. Fear of heights. Any other weird traits I don’t know about?” His back straightens as he frowns. “Oh god, those emerald underpants. They don’t have siblings, do they?”

“No.” I close the door behind us and he flops on the bed with limbs dangling over a duvet like salt and pepper noodles.

“What side do you normally sleep on?” he casually asks.

A surge of heat flushes into my cheeks as his spicy noodles stretch like a cat in the sun. “The middle,” I reply. — like every other singleton.

“I have a preference, but I can switch,” he adds. When he rolls face down on the bed and winks, my hip sags against the desk, grateful for its support. I’m suddenly feeling a little out of breath after ascending the stairs. And for the first time in forever, it’s not because of my basophobia. I turn away, rubbing my face. This whole situation is weird enough without his insatiable flirting.

To halt my expanding infatuation with

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