Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Also? I kind of want her to laugh when she finds me.
I check my phone.
No new texts.
I’ve scrolled up through our messages three times now. Not because I’m obsessed—duh. No. I keep scrolling because I can’t get the “You did NOT tell me you fucked that guy! God I am so jealous—I wasn’t joking when I said there was a ghost in my vagina,” out of my brain.
Nova is chaos. Beautiful, sexy chaos.
I lean against the shelf, subtly rearranging the chickpeas and kidney beans one more time like I work here, as if that will steady my nerves as an elderly woman turns into the aisle. She gives me the kind of side-eye typically reserved for men who loiter too close to the item she needs.
Not that I blame her. And not to brag, but have I mentioned I’m massive?
“Afternoon, ma’am,” I say as if I’m totally normal, my grin broadcasting, Not a creep!
She nods suspiciously and pushes her cart past me, clutching the handles of her cart to steady herself, whizzing past as quickly as her little legs can carry her. If I saw me in this aisle, I’d pivot too. There’s only so much a smile can do when you’re 6’3 and built for hockey.
I go back to rearranging the shelves. Slight tilt to the left for symmetry. Bush’s Best in the center—premium bean energy. I’m mid-adjustment when I feel it.
Like a sixth sense.
Like a shift in the atmosphere.
Like someone just turned the dial on my instincts to ‘high.’
She’s here.
Finally!
Curves and confidence, she struts toward me in tight denim, sleeves pushed up on a cropped bright green jacket. The collar is popped, with a black tank layered beneath I can see is clinging to her body like it was custom-fitted.
The neckline dips low.
When I try not to lower my gaze, I fail tremendously.
Cleavage for days.
Tan tits and smooth skin…
I glance away for half a second, purely for survival purposes, before my eyes drag right back like they’ve been rewired. Like there’s a magnet in her chest and my dignity never stood a chance.
I feel every muscle in my body lock up—not in fear, but in restraint. Like if I breathe wrong, she’ll disappear. Like if I so much as blink, I’ll miss something.
Fuck.
I’m done for.
I have rearranged beans for this woman.
I would rearrange my whole damn life.
She steps closer…
Closer still.
I can smell her perfume now, her eyes flicker to my right, clocking the bean pyramid. The Bush’s Best centerpiece. The humble little love monument I built like an idiot with a crush and a half hour to kill.
Her pink glossy lips twitch. “Nice beans.”
“I can’t believe you actually showed up,” I reply, cause part of me thought she might cancel.
She smiles at me, abashed. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late. I, uh—had to change. Twice.”
I glance down at the tank top, then back up at her face, appreciating her effort—and the effects.
“Worth it.”
She tugs on the edge of her jacket like it’ll somehow hide the very thing she purposely chose to wear.
“I almost bailed. I’m…” she admits, shuffling on her heels. “Pretty embarrassed about the text messages.”
What, those? Pfft.
What guy cares about her haunted vagina? If hers has cobwebs, that only makes me all that more curious.
“Why?” I ask, stepping just a little closer. “It was very informative.” Nod seriously. “I had no idea ghost vaginas were a thing.”
She groans, hiding her face in one hand. “Please don’t say ghost vagina out loud.”
“Can I whisper it?”
She covers her face with her hands. “No.”
Hmmm.
Nova peeks at me between her fingers, enough for me to catch the edges of a reluctant smile. Her cheeks are still pink, but the embarrassment has mostly melted into something else now—something softer, lighter.
“Anyway,” she says by way of trying to change the subject. “It wasn’t supposed to be a whole thing.”
“It’s a great thing,” I announce. “But now I have several follow-up questions. Do the ghosts pay rent? Do they knock before entering?”
Her palm barely connects with my bicep, but she leaves it there for a second too long.
Not that I mind.
“Knock it off,” her mouth is saying while her hand gives my muscles a light squeeze before dropping her hand from my arm and walking off—quickly, as if putting physical distance between us will help.
I follow.
“Are they friendly ghosts?” I muse to her back, eyes on her ass. “Sexy ghosts? Polite? Do they leave love notes?”
She tosses a glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowed, lips fighting a smile. “You’re obnoxious.”
Am I?
Nova turns the corner into the pasta aisle, and I follow like a guy entranced by her charm, my curiosity, and the very real possibility that I’d watch this woman shop for canned tomatoes for the rest of my life if it meant she’d keep throwing daggers at me over her shoulder like that.
I catch up as she’s reaching for a box of rigatoni on a high shelf, standing on her toes to grab it. Her jacket lifts and I catch a peek of skin above her waistband—just a sliver, but it’s fatal.