Blue Moon by Megan Slayer
Part of the Scare This! collection
M/M, Anal Sex, Masturbation
Contemporary, Paranormal, Ghosts
The ghost at my door claims to be my ex-boyfriend, back from the dead. Yeah, right.
Ghosts don’t exist. I know they don’t. Why? I’ve never seen one. I’ve seen everything else—from Sasquatch to hell hounds and more…even vampires, but I’ve never laid eyes on a ghost.
Go figure. It’s Halloween. All sorts of stuff happens on the spookiest night of the year. There will be plenty of people out having a good time, scaring each other and begging for candy. They’ll try to get me involved, but I know better.
Have I mentioned I hate Halloween? Two years ago on October 31st, my world fell apart and I know it’ll never be fixed. No ghost can ease my broken heart and bring my boyfriend back to me. None.
MLR Press: http://www.mlrbooks.com/Bookstore.php?bookid=MSBLUEMN
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/bxg56e
©Megan Slayer, 2014, all rights reserved
“Bitter isn’t a good color on you.”
Paul tapped the remote, silencing the television. He could’ve sworn he heard someone besides the people on the screen talking. The voice sounded like Tristan, but that was impossible. Tristan Evans had died two years ago.
“Come on, Paul. Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Damn it. That had to be Tristan’s voice, but from where? He glanced around the room. With the exception of the cat, he was alone. He’d locked the front and back doors and checked the house to ensure everything was safe. Right after Tristan had died, he could’ve sworn he’d heard Tristan talking to him. The shrink dismissed the voice as being a figment of Paul’s imagination and longing. Paranoia, the shrink called it. Paul only lasted the rest of the session before finding a new psychiatrist.
Hearing Tristan had to be a figment of Paul’s imagination—again.
“If you won’t properly speak to me, I’ll stop coming to you.”
Paul squeezed his eyes shut. In his mind he saw Tristan leaning against the bedroom doorframe. He wore his favorite ratty, body –hugging blue jeans, no socks or shoes and the old Flashes shirt he loved. The muscles in his arms bulged and his dark hair flopped over his forehead. His blue eyes blazed as he tipped his head to the side. Even as a memory, he sent warm shivers through Paul’s system.
“You’ve got to stop hating the holiday we both loved. Hate won’t bring me back.” Tristan strode towards him and hooks his thumbs in his front pockets. “Cheer up. Please?”
Tears slipped down Paul’s cheeks. The hurt he’d bottled up for the better part of the last two years came back in a rush. “I know I should, but I can’t. I lost you and seeing all of the Halloween decorations makes that loss so fresh and raw. I can’t do it. I love you, but I can’t keep ripping myself open.”
“Then keep loving me.”
Paul wiped his face and opened his eyes. He needed to get his shit together. Talking to a figment of his imagination wasn’t going to help his situation. Still, the words poured out of him. “How? How do I forget the man I love?”
Tristan sat opposite him on the bed. “You keep my memory alive, thus keeping me alive.”
Paul blinked. He’d opened his eyes. There was no way Tristan could be on the bed with him. No way. He’d buried his lover. “You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t exist. What the fuck is going on?” He scrambled off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thud. One of the pillows flopped over onto him and he shoved it away. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. “No. Ghost do not exist.”
“Technically I’m not a ghost, but you’d be surprised.” Tristan—or what sure as hell lookedlike Tristan—sighed and stood. He turned his back on Paul. “It all comes down to rules and you know how much I hate rules.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I found a way around the rules.”
Paul rounded the bed and placed himself between Tristan’s ghost and the cat. No one hurt Milo—not even a crazy ghost who claimed to be Paul’s ex-boyfriend. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, but the joke is over. You had your fun and old Paul looks like a moron. You won, now get the hell out of my house.”
“Aww, honey, I’m not trying to dupe you.” The man strolled across the room to the bed. “Paul, I’m here.”