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In the Wild West that is millennial start-up culture, deciding how to sponsor and market fake rubber tongues to lick cats with does demand my serious consideration.
[REDACTED] No, I can confirm that the man in question was not the star of any major film franchise. HAYDEN I figured— [REDACTED] Nor the star of a minor film franchise. HAYDEN Perfect, that was my next question. Whenever someone sees something mysterious, I like to make sure neither an A-list actor nor a C-list actor was responsible.
It’s like a Jake from State Farm situation, but with aliens, huh?
I’m not sure what neighborhood lends itself best to the local Bigfoot hunters.
Hollywood is a necessary evil of living in LA. It is also the only place that would naturally have an alien-themed pop-up bar.
Hayden makes me wish I believed.
Perhaps because he is one of the most handsome men I’ve seen in my life, but I also realize I don’t know what the two of us could have in common. Certainly not a mutual love of aliens.
His emerald stare makes my skin feel warm, like what I imagine being struck by a UFO laser beam must feel like. He looks just as struck, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“You have classified information?” Hayden’s eyes shift back and forth, debating if he should keep going or not. Then his shoulders and hands rise in surrender. “I know a guy.” “Is it you?” “You never know who is trying to scam you for black market Bigfoot footage.”
He’s nice. Conspiracies and monsters aren’t my thing, but there’s something about him that I am compelled by.” “His face?”
Who the hell is this man? He smells good, dresses well, and looks like he moisturizes. I bet he even has a bed frame.
Does this man’s personality only turn on when he’s talking about cryptids? “Nothing could ever put me on your level, Hayden.” “I encourage you to take notes.”
I am taking notes, but Hayden promises a printout of his deck to keep on hand as we work on episodes. I promise him I’ll sleep with it under my pillow, but he doesn’t find this amusing.
“We love that,” I say. “Woke conspiracy theorist.”
“You mean Bigfoot is not running a phishing scam?”
“Chloe, I’m not a host. You know that. I have always been the one behind the camera, calling the shots. I’m not the personality. I…don’t…stand out.” At this, Hayden’s head rises, brows knit together, lips pinched in a straight line. “You have blue hair,” he says.
“I could not get us one of the more haunted rooms,” he laments. “Shame.”
I blink a few times. “How much of this did you already have?” “None of it!” “And here I thought you were a professional ghost hunter already…”
Hayden makes me want to believe in a lot of things, and right now, he’s making me believe I won’t always need to fear this feeling.
“If you can hear us,” I interrupt, “move something—” “—Do not!” We both quiet as my phone charger drops off the nightstand. Of course, the cord isn’t glued to the surface, but Hayden—all six-foot-something of him—jumps onto the bed. His back presses hard against the headboard, hands covering his mouth. “It just moved your charger.”
He rubs his arm a few times, but is obviously trying to rationalize his psychosomatic, tender arm strokes.
be on camera with him? I change for bed, begrudging how I’ll have to sleep in a bra tonight, but the last thing I need is for Hayden to know I have boobs.
I’m not ready for a compliment from someone like him. Not someone who makes my stomach do flips and looks at me like I matter. He looks at me like he’s eager to hear what I have to say. He studies me. I don’t think Cade ever even saw me.
“Good night, Hallie. Don’t let the ghosties bite.”
It turns out people like watching Hayden and me antagonize ghosts.
“Now, of course, I know he was full of shit on a lot of these hunts. He’d tell me to be on guard for the Pope Lick Monster up in the woods of Massachusetts—” “Absolutely foolish of him. Everyone knows the Pope Lick Monster—” I jest, leaning against the bookshelf with him. “Resides in Kentucky,” Hayden glares, holding back a laugh. “Of course.”
Today’s T-shirt is worn baby blue with two crows and the caption “Attempted Murder.”
I never anticipated getting cockblocked by a cat named Cthulhu, but “unexpected” is how I’d describe most parts of my life lately.
Somehow, “kill” sounds better. The CIA is out here like, “we love when things are moist.”
So, we’re moistening up the president.
“If you had to pick a way to die on this ship, how would you want to go?” I tease. “Peacefully in my sleep, obviously.” “That doesn’t count. You have to die badly.” “You weren’t that specific.” “I am now.”
I shoot the planchette over to the “yes.” Hayden gasps. For someone so smart, he is alarmingly gullible and easy to scare. This is precisely why I cannot let myself believe any of his theories. If I start somewhere, like believing in ghosts, where will it lead me?
One day, it’s ghosts. The next, I am wearing a tinfoil hat and trying to steal the Declaration of Independence.
“It’s very millennial. Even in death, we can’t get a house.” “How did you die?” Hayden asks. “Nudes,” the Spirit Box yelps. Hayden sets his pad on the floor. “Excuse me?” “Death by nudes,” I say. “Obviously.” “It could be noodles,” Hayden says. He flips his pad where he has written “Nudes” and then “Noods?” below it. “Yes, that is far more acceptable, thank you, Hayden.”
The thought of waking up close to him, feeling him breathing, knowing the little sounds he makes in his sleep, will undo me.
“Fear not, Hallie,” Hayden teases, shutting his eyes. “I am a bottomless pit of weird information, so we’ll be good to keep going for at least another ten years.” “Good. Ten years of convincing you none of this stuff is real.” “It’s real,” he sighs. “All of it?”
He laughs for real this time, and it feels like being at a sleepover with best friends. It feels like the sort of relationship I’ve always wanted. I’ve always wanted to fall in love with my best friend—a person I’d stay up past my bedtime with laughing at dumb jokes. Rolling over and saying, “Okay, now I’m going to sleep,” only to do the opposite. I want to fall asleep to the sound of his laugh, the waves, the creaking of an old ship.
In short, I want to die. I’m not entirely sure if I want to die in a good way or a bad way. When I imagine a perfect morning, I imagine waking up in someone’s arms, someone who cares and wants me there, where nothing is enough to drag me from underneath the covers, no bony cuddles or morning breath bad enough to make me pull away. Hayden is the one to finally paint the picture for me.
That night, even Lizzie sensed my sadness. She gave me a weird lick I didn’t like, but I appreciated her concern.
“I know that what he did clearly hurt you, but he’s so wrong. You’re not hard to work with. And you do stand out. When you’re around, it’s impossible to look away. You are the only thing I see. He’s an idiot for not knowing you make everything you touch better. Please don’t believe anything coming out of the mouth of a guy who still has frosted tips.”
“We’re going up there? We drove all this way to go to a playground?” “Yep. Come on. It’s how the aliens will know to come get us.” He
“The problem is that I never really started again. When you rebuild your life, you’re supposed to grow something new. I came out here with a podcast and a cat, and two and a half years later, all I still have is a podcast and a cat.”
“Something told me this was a chance I had to take, even if it scared me.” He bites his lip. “It might have been my psychiatrist at first, but I did make the choice on my own. The sadness and the hurt are still there. But now it feels like something good is there, too. There hasn’t been something good there in a long time.”
I might not be able to kiss him like I want to—not yet—but I can’t fathom pulling away from him. Instead, I weave myself closer to him, resting my head on his chest. He knows just what to do. His arms envelop me, keeping me tight against his body. I fall into him completely, as hard as I’m falling for him.
A plane races across the night sky. “UFO,” I say. “A plane.” Hayden laughs and it vibrates through my entire body. “Wow, who’s the nonbeliever now?”
We almost kissed. I spent an hour resting against his body watching the stars until the glue he’d applied to the places Cade broke me dried.
“Really, if you want to go rest, you can. I can get you home eventually.” “In your bed?” “Sure. It’s clean.” “Does it smell like you?” I ask. My god, delirium is beating me to a pulp at the moment. His brows furrow. “I imagine so. Is that a selling point?” I nod. “You must really not be feeling well.”
I don’t know how to explain to him that I cannot be a burden. Yet, something in the soft tone of his voice makes me question if I even need to explain it to him. Is this what people are supposed to do when they care?
“I don’t want you to get sick, either,” I whisper. “I’ll take an extra Flintstones vitamin tomorrow.” Hayden takes the bowl from me and puts it in the kitchen. When he returns, he has a bottle of NyQuil in hand. “Here.” I frown. “You’re trying to drug me.” “With love, though.” Love.
“Your bathroom’s clean.” Jesus. I’ve been saying dumb shit to him all day, but the bemused look on his face tells me he doesn’t care. That, perhaps, he likes it. “Is it usually not?” “No,” I say. “You are an anomalous man. Lots of guys don’t have toilet paper.” Every one of his touches is so gentle it makes me shake like a leaf. “There are even extra rolls in the linen closet.” “You have a linen closet,” I whisper. “I sure do,” he whispers back. “Don’t tell anyone.”
