Principles of Spookology (The Spectral Files, #2)

by S.E. Harmon

“You want me to….” “Not now. Just sleep.” It had been a bullshit offer anyway. I wasn’t sure I could even move. The best I could offer was to be a creepy sex dummy while he jacked off on me.

Companies were still sending him spam. Bed Bath & Beyond was determined to give him twenty percent off, murder be damned.

I should update the board.” “Already done.” Danny’s mouth curved. “Do I know you or what?” Not very well if you touched the precioussss. Sure enough, my whiteboard—the one with Do Not Touch meticulously printed in small caps at the bottom—was altered.

I blinked at him. “You have snitches?” “You don’t?” “Of course I do,” I said quickly, wondering where I could submit a request to acquire some fucking snitches, ASAP.

I nudged his shoulder with mine and held out my half empty cup. “Coffee?” “Why? Have you decided to just start mainlining it into your veins?” “I offer you sustenance and you call me a crackhead?”

“I think that’s enough prep, don’t you think?” “I wasn’t just prepping you,” he said, his voice gravely and raw. “I like fingering your ass.”

He thought a dose of fresh air first thing in the morning was more invigorating than coffee. I eyed him with a healthy dash of disgust. Jogging. On a Saturday morning. By choice.

He grinned. “Tree is so awesome, right? I’ve never met a more patient instructor. I don’t think there’s a student alive he can’t get through to.” “He slapped me,” I said tartly.

Because salad is healthier in bamboo? My brain tsked. And aren’t you here for a desk? I pulled a set of four off the shelf. You don’t know my life!