Good Spirits (Ghosted #1)

by B.K. Borison

She doesn’t move. “No thanks.” I drop my hand. “Harriet.” She picks up her mug. “Ghost man.”

😂😂

“Whatever.” Harriet shakes off my grip and bends at the waist, her hands on her knees. “What the hell did you mean, it’s like stepping into a dream? What sort of dreams do you have?”

This banter is cracking me the fuck up!

“Yeah, well, now my stomach feels like it’s trying to climb out of my eyeballs, so thanks for that.”

😂😂

Pajamas. Those flimsy shorts with the slit in the side were not pajamas. She was wearing a garment constructed by the devil, designed specifically to bring men to their knees.

😏😏

“That’s not the point of this conversation.” “I wish I knew the point of this conversation.”

She looks at the ceiling again, suspicious. “Is this about the mistletoe? Are you dealing illegal Christmas greenery now?”

“Because if there is, I’m not familiar with it. I think about you all day long. I fall into a sleep I don’t need and I dream of you. Of your smile, and your laugh, and the way your mouth tastes. The sounds you make. I wake up wondering where you are, how you’re feeling, and I hope—” His eyes search mine. “I hope you’re thinking of me. You make me hope, Harriet. You make me want. I am haunted by you.” He slips his hand around my neck, his palm squeezing at my nape. “Do not mistake me for a good man. I am not here out of some misplaced sense of honor or duty. I demand your attention and I desire your affection.”

🥹🥹🥹

“And you will,” he rumbles. “I promise you that. You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” My skin flushes hot. I nod.

hell yeah!

I suppose he’s belowdecks, doing . . .whatever it is fishermen do when they’re down there. Battening down the hatches? Shivering his . . .timbers?

😂😂