Page 23 of The House on Haven Way

When I get back, it’s dark. I figure there’s nothing much Amber could have learned in a day, even as optimistic and enthusiastic as she seemed.

Wants to get rid of me. That’s why she’s so excited.

So, I creep into the house, nice and slow, figuring maybe it’s smart to keep my distance after showing her my bad side last night, not to mention that little tingling incident earlier.

Of course, all of that flies out the window when I see her sprawled halfway over the kitchen table, moaning quietly, cheek pressed into the sleek glass tabletop. “Amber! Kid, what is it?”

“Don’t call me kid, and I’m dying,” she groans.

“Not on my watch.” I yank her phone from where it rests on the table—a little too hard. It sails across the room and hits the wall. “Ooops. Just hang on, sweetheart, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” I get the phone back, and I’m in the process of trying to figure the damn thing out when she laughs weakly.

“My back is in a spasm, Johnny.”

Ooh. Shit, I am suddenly acutely aware of how she says my name. How she says it when she’s bent over at the table, voice breathless.

Stop that.

“This was the first time I’ve done PT in weeks. I had an initial appointment, but today was the first session. They put me through my paces, and I’m in so much pain. My legs are shaking. My back feels like it’s on fire. My head is starting to hurt again.”

“What can I do? Motrin again?”

“No. I should have found out where there’s a masseuse in town. I have a massaging back pillow. It’s a box in the bedroom closet. You wouldn’t want to be the most heroic ghostly roommate ever and get that for me, would you?”

“You wanna stay like that while I get it?” I ask doubtfully.

“Not really seeing a lot of choices. My legs are like spaghetti and my back... My back and I are not friends.”

“I’ll carry you to your room and find the pillow. Here we go. Nice and easy,” I say, picking her up the same way I picked up Private Timson and Corporal Kramer when they were shot in that same ambush where I got my shin blasted. Nice and easy. I had to make two trips, with my shoe full of blood. This is actually much easier. Amber is lighter, and I’m stronger.

And when I’m as solid as I can be, she just rests against me, not sinking into me, but where we touch—the tingles start. And spread.

“Oh. Ohhh. Oh, my gosh, this is amazing. Why are people afraid of ghosts when they feel so amazing?” Amber moans softly.

“Uh. Got me,” I mumble. “You know... I’ve been told I give a good back rub.”

“Oh, yeah? Who told you that?”

“Me. Myself. Just now,” I laugh at my white lie. “Sorry. I just thought I could help.”

“I will pay you to help,” Amber moans. “This is beyond modern massage therapy, let me tell you. It’s like... sonic vibrations mixed with heat, mixed with water pressure. Sign me the fuck up, baby.”

Holy cats. I know she didn’t mean to say it like that, all heavy breathing and throaty, but damn.

My voice sounds just as heavy and low. “I’ll do it for free. I appreciate your help with my problems. I’ll be glad to help you with yours.”

Chapter Six: Feels So Good

Johnny Miller is a giant ghostly vibrator.

He doesn’t know he’s doing it, I’m sure. He’s being a gentleman, which I feel a little surprised at, seeing as how he comes off rough around the edges, and tonight when he appeared, he was in a black leather jacket with “Hellcats” written across it. Even when he’s in a plain white tee and jeans, he looks like a brunette James Dean. (Well, a grayscale one.)

He didn’t make any comments about slipping into something more comfortable. He isn’t trying to grope my ass or sneak around to my side boobs. His hands glide up and down my back and neck as I lie on my bed, moaning like a girl on one of those porn cam sites.

Devon gave me a massage a couple of times. Five minutes max.

Johnny has been going for... Well, I don’t know how long. Don’t care, either. I’ll stop when he’s tired.

“Do ghosts get tired?” I ask.