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“Oh, dear God,” she breathed, turning to send me a horrified grimace. “Am I dead?”
“I don’t know,” I told her honestly. “But I’ve never been able toseeghosts before, and I’m positive I’ve been in the presence of a few.”
“Then I’m not dead,” she answered astutely and tried to grab my arm to prove it, only to cause a cool, misting sensation to coat my flesh when her fingers went right through me. “Ugh!”
I glanced down at the spot she’d tried to touch and then back up again. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re not exactly alive either.”
“But I have to be,” she told me, shaking her head. “I—I—No! This can’t be happening to me. It’s all a dream. A crazy, stupid dream.” Backing away, she looked toward the ceiling and cried, “Well, I’m ready to wake up now.” When her back met the wall of my room, she added, “You hear me up there? I’m ready…any time.” When nothing changed, she sobbed out her defeat and began to sink to the floor. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this.”
Plopping heavily onto the carpet, she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, rocking slowly.
When her rapid, stuttered breathing started to border on hyperventilation, my heart went out to her. I knew the beginnings of a panic attack when I saw one. And she was about to have an epic meltdown. My heart wrenched in sympathy, and I knelt in front of her.
“Just breathe,” I encouraged. “Slow, deep breaths. You’re okay. I’m here. This will pass.”
Shaking her head and having trouble processing words, she managed to stutter, “B-but?—”
“No,” I warned softly. “Don’t think about the scary stuff right now. Just think about the air going into your lungs and then coming back out again. Think about something nice, and just…breathe. Thiswillgo away.”
“Okay, okay,” she tried. “Something nice. Something nice.” She glanced around only to return her gaze to me and say, “Like your eyes. Your eyes are nice. You have beautiful blue eyes.”
I huffed out an amused sound and shook my head. “Whatever works for you, I guess.”
“It’s working,” she assured, looking deep into my eyes, so deep, in fact, that I had to swallow against the pulsebeat of feelings that surged through me.
She didn’t have bad eyes herself. They were light hazel, almost gray, but definitely not brown or blue or green. They were simply…captivating.
Heaving out a settled breath, she whispered, “It worked.”
I blinked rapidly, realizing we’d been trying to calm her down, not exchange intense eye contact.
Clearing my throat, I shifted backward and avoided looking straight into her face again. “Good. Good.” But when I glanced around my room, I felt different. Like something basic had altered inside me.
The girl blinked her lashes, then squinted in realization before she blurted, “Wait. Is this yourbedroom?”
Laughing over the random question, I pushed back to my feet and ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Why?”
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she looked around. “Huh. Never guessed I’d have to die before getting to see the inside of Foster Union’s bedroom. That isjustmy luck.” Gaze skimming back to me, she looked me over from head to toe. “And this is what you wear to sleep in each night?”
I glanced down at my attire: a brown T-shirt with our yellow Stetson the Stormin’ Stallion mascot on the front and a pair of black boxer shorts.
“This is what I wear to bed,” I answered with an affirming nod.
“Hmm…” She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and looked momentarily disappointed before admitting, “I was kind of hoping you’d wear—you know—less.”
Feeling my face heat, I laughed and shook my head, shifting a few more steps away from her. “Sorry to disappoint. But my four-year-old sister likes to randomly come in and crawl into bed with me in the middle of the night, so I usually keep the man thong tucked out of sight.”
She brightened. “You actually have a man thong?”
I lowered my eyebrows. “No.”
“Oh.” She slumped dismally, only to snap her fingers. “But you could at least take your shirt off. Four-year-olds don’t care if grown men go shirtless.”
Amused and flustered at the same time, I shook my head with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m not stripping for you, sorry.”
“But I’ve seen you pose in your social media page without a shirt on when you ran a 10K.”
I lifted my hands. “Then why do you need to see my bare chest now?”
