How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (21 page)

How could she have low self-esteem?
If he hadn’t declared her off limits early on, every guy in town
their age would have been after her….

Oh.

“Hell,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She went back to
thinking.

No wonder she’d left town for so
long. It all looked different if you started off with the
assumption that the beautiful, intelligent, fiery blonde beside him
had low self-esteem—low self-esteem that he may have helped along
by making sure she never had dates. Also a few of the girls Clay
had dated to make Cory jealous hadn’t taken their part in this so
well, and they’d actually been nasty to her until he could put a
stop to it. Girls really could be mean when scorned—or whatever
that phrase was.

He still wanted to shake Cory. She
had mirrors in her house. Was she blind? She’d gotten scholarships
to half the colleges that existed. Obviously, she was intelligent.
He’d been after her for the better part of three decades. Not that
he was that great a catch, but still…. She should have the
healthiest self-esteem on the planet.

He glanced over at her. Staring just
seemed to make her uncomfortable if the anxious way she was acting
was any indication. It was hard not to stare, beyond the fact that
she was blowing his mind with her interpretation of everything, she
also was wearing a red, ruffly top that reminded him of babydoll
lingerie—only in cotton, and the blue jeans she had on were so worn
and snug he wanted to run his hands across them.

She dragged a hand through her
short, blonde curls. She’d always had short hair. Her mom had once
told him that if her hair got any longer than two inches it would
turn into a rat’s nest of knots.

Her mom even knew how he felt about
her! He’d practically lived at her house up until they’d hit
puberty, and he couldn’t be around her without wanting
her.

Actually that hadn’t changed. He
still wanted her sprawled out beneath him, his hands in her blonde
hair and her mouth against his.

It wasn’t a reason her dad should
have a shotgun ready anymore at the very least. Though, with how
protective her parents were, he still might. Her dad had put the
fear into Clay when they’d been fifteen, and he’d wanted to take
her to the movies for her birthday. Most girls got to date before
they were seniors in high school, not Cory. Her dad wouldn’t even
let him ask her to dances until that last year—when she’d avoided
him like he was the plague.

Even her dad knew how he felt! Her
dad also knew what lurked in the mind of every fifteen year old boy
when confronted with a girl with a siren’s body and the smile of
the girl next door. Her dad knew exactly what Clay had been
thinking when he was a fifteen year old boy…and a sixteen year old
boy…and a seventeen year old boy.

Cory licked her
lips…slowly.

And a twenty-seven year old man. Her
dad hadn’t mentioned staying away from her anymore, and he and her
dad had been spending a lot of time together—with her dad being the
best electrician in town. Her dad didn’t seem opposed to them being
together as adults. In fact, he’d cuffed Clay over the head a week
ago when he’d finished up the outlets in the master bedroom and
told him to stop stringing Cory along.

“Okay,” Cory said
finally.

He exhaled a sigh that sounded
pathetic and all too relieved to him, but who knew what she
thought. Odds were, it was the opposite of what he thought. Hell,
he might end up with low self-esteem at this rate. She’d thought he
was not only an ass back then, but a jerk this last
year.

“But not all night,” she said
quickly. “And if you leave, I get to leave too.”

“Why not all night?” He wanted all
night. It might take all night for them to be on the same page. It
might take him the first few hours just to convince her that he
hadn’t been bullying her for half her lifetime.

“I don’t want to stay up all night
huddled in a corner waiting for a ghost to attack me. We’re not
seventeen.” A little lower, she added, “We’re not twelve
either.”

“Bring a sleeping bag. I am. It’ll
be like camping.” He’d even put carpeting in a few of the rooms
he’d already painted. It should be relatively soft. He had a
camping mattress he could bring along too.

“Camping?”

Oh, right, her parents weren’t the
camping type. Her dad was fond of electricity in every
form.

“I’ll bring a sleeping bag for you,”
he said. Actually, he had two that would zip together and make one
big sleeping bag, but he’d play it by ear.

“Okay.” She sounded so adorably
suspicious…and not at all suspicious of the right things. “So, what
time?”

“Seven to seven. Same time as
before. Only this time, you won’t have to tell your folks you’re
staying the night at a friend’s.”

She clicked her tongue and looked
away. “They would never have believed that.”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t thought that
through. She wasn’t a sleepover type of girl in high school.
Actually, his mom might have been right when he’d finally told her
a few weeks back about what he’d done ten years ago…it might have
been the dumbest idea he’d ever had.

But he was a seventeen year old
boy.

And she was Cory.

She made him blind, dumb, and
stupid.

“Okay, new terms means we have to
shake on it again, right?” She squared her shoulders and turned to
him with her hand out.

“Duck, we’re adults, not kids.” He
moved her hand away, leaned in, and kissed her. For their first
kiss, it wasn’t bad—even if he kept it short so she wouldn’t back
out of that night. When he pulled back, she kept her eyes closed
for an extra second before she opened them, looking stunned. He’d
wanted to put that look on her face since she’d turned twelve. He
got to his feet, grabbing her book as he did. He was taking
hostages this time. Though, if she didn’t show, he was going to go
collect her. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be a chicken,” he called over
his shoulder as he walked away.

She pegged him in the back of the
head with a pinecone.

She’d dragged out her old high
school backpack but she had no idea what to put inside. A change of
clothes maybe. Not that she’d need it. There was no way she’d be
taking off what she was wearing.

She could bring snacks, but what if
it was actually haunted, and it freaked her out so much she
puked?

Hopefully he had toilets installed,
but she wasn’t planning on drinking a ton of water
anyway.

Her phone rang as she’d just decided
to be prepared for anything and pack a change of clothes and her
weight in red licorice.

“Hey, Mom,” she said, cradling the
phone against her face as she shoved things into the backpack. It
was only six-thirty, but she was going to be there right at seven
so he couldn’t ever accuse her of being chicken again.

“Hey, we were thinking of taking you
out to see a movie. I know you always seem to get a little
depressed around this time of year.”

She’d never told them why, but she
had come home from the library that day a decade ago and shut
herself in her room and cried for so long they’d thought she needed
a shrink.

“Uhh, no, I think I’ll pass,” she
said.

“Honey, if you’re going to mope
around your apartment all night….”

“No, umm, I’m busy. I’ll be busy.”
You’d think at twenty-seven she could tell her parents what she was
really doing, but they knew Clay’s mom. Everybody knew everybody’s
parents in Rye Patch. The last thing she wanted was their parents
getting together and having a good laugh over this.

“Busy?”

“Yep, I’ll be busy—keeping
busy—doing things.” She wanted to bang her head against a wall.
That didn’t sound suspicious at all.

“Okay,” her mom said
slowly.

“You and Dad have fun. You’ll have
to tell me about it tomorrow. Well, tomorrow night.”

She might need to sleep some of
tomorrow to make up for tonight. It was a good thing she closed the
bookshop on weekends. Though, with how busy she’d been lately, she
might want to hire one of the high school kids to help out. Clay’s
mom had even volunteered to watch the shop tomorrow—before Corrine
had pointed out she was always closed on weekends. Maybe that had
been a subtle hint she should be open on weekends too. Not that
anything anyone did in the Matthews family was subtle. Clay and his
mom were about as subtle as bricks.

Indecipherable on the other hand....
Clay hadn’t made any sense since she’d come back here. And then
he’d kissed her and knocked any sense she had out of her skull. For
not being a long or serious kiss, it’d hit her like she’d stuck a
fork in an outlet—something her father would have killed her
for—long before electrocution did.

“Cory?” her mom asked.

“What?” She vaguely realized that
there’d been the buzzing sound of speech coming from the phone
while she’d been thinking about Clay’s kiss.

“I said have a good time. I’ll let
you go.”

“Uhh, okay.” That was weird. Her mom
had never let her off the hook for being so scatterbrained about
plans before.

“Night!”

“Bye….”

Weirdest call ever.

She arrived there five minutes ahead
of time and then sat there staring at the house. It looked nothing
like the scary old Miller’s house had. It was hard to even see that
house in what she was looking at. She hadn’t driven by in a couple
weeks, but he must have been busy, it looked move-in ready—other
than painting the outside. It really ought to be
off-white.

The door opened, and the light from
inside the house silhouetted Clay as he leaned against the door
frame with his arms folded.

She got out of the car. “I’m not
chicken. I’m just trying to figure out where to park.” Maple Street
wasn’t a high-traffic street, but their church’s organist and her
first grade teacher lived on it, and her car was going to be
here—all night.

Clay reached inside the house,
grabbed a remote and opened the two car garage where she could see
his truck was already parked. It felt weird to pull in beside his
truck—domestic—like his and hers parking. She took way longer than
necessary to shift it into park.

The door from the garage to the
house opened, and Clay stood there watching her as if he was
waiting for her to bolt.

Ten years ago, she’d been hesitant
because she was more than a little spooked by the idea of spooks.
She shouldn’t have even needed to prove she was a chicken back
then. He’d known her long enough to know that she’d have to sleep
with the light on if they watched anything even slightly
scary.

She was a little better today. Not
much…but it’d been years since she’d had to sleep with the light
on.

Today, no ghost alive could compete
with the fear of doing something stupid in front of Clay. They’d
had an easy relationship up until they’d hit their teenage years.
She’d called him her best friend. Now, she wouldn’t know what to
call him, and she hadn’t for around fifteen years. She was going to
be here all night, and she had no idea what he’d meant with that
kiss.

She’d never sealed a bet with a
kiss.

Then again, Clay had been the star
attraction at the kissing booth last year. Even if she’d heard that
most kisses were on his cheek or, in the case of their first grade
teacher, on his forehead, it still sounded like kisses didn’t mean
anything to him.

Corrine grabbed her backpack and got
out slowly, watching him the whole time. She didn’t know what to
make of him anymore. She’d never even considered the fact he’d
intended to stay with her ten years ago. It didn’t make sense. Why
would you bet someone they were too chicken to stay in a haunted
house but then help them win the bet?

“I’m only doing this because of the
bet and because you stole my book,” she said—though she didn’t know
why. Okay, well, she didn’t want him thinking she was going to be
following him around for the rest of their lives.

He nodded in the direction of the
counter behind him. “I’ve got Dracula on the counter surrounded by
garlic and a stake nearby as a warning. He’s not leaving until
dawn.” He pressed the garage door button, and it was as if he was
cutting them off from the outside world as it dropped. It sent a
weird thrill down her spine.