Sleeping With a Ghost

CHELSEA

I wake up the next morning, snug in bed. I peek under the covers and realize I’m still naked. I feel something warm and wet.

“Great, I’m lying in the wet spot!” I exclaim. I glance over to see if Chris is still with me. He’s not.

“Chris!” I call out, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Chris, are you still here?” I ask, standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

I grab a robe hanging behind the door and slip it on. I don’t bother to tie it. I just leave it open and head down to the kitchen.

Once I reach the kitchen, I notice my clothes scattered on the floor. I look up to see a full bottle of wine on the counter and the untouched meal we’d prepared.

I pick up a fork and poke at one of the meatballs, taking a bite. I immediately rush to the trashcan to spit it out. I use the fork to scrape my tongue.

“Thank God we didn’t eat last night,” I say, laughing.

I glance to my right and spot a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. I look around the room. “Chris?” I call out again.

No response.

I grab a clean mug and pour myself a cup. I walk out the front door, still in my robe, and stand on the porch. I stand there sipping my coffee, my robe open for all to see, and I don’t give a damn.

There’s something about this place that feels magical, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. I take a seat on the porch swing and use one leg to set it in motion. As I sip my coffee, I think back to last night.

After a few minutes, I stop the swing and look up at the sky. Suddenly, I jump up and dash back into the house. As I run up the stairs, my robe billows out behind me like a cape.

I reach my office and settle into my desk chair. I open one of the laptops and start typing.

Words are pouring out of me. I can’t type fast enough. Word after word, I write, correcting my mistakes as I go. Everything is coming at me so fast.

I’m still sitting at my desk in my robe. I wrap up a day of writing. Almost twenty thousand words in ten hours. I close my laptop and start looking for my phone.

“Where the hell is my phone?” I mutter, scanning my desk.

I get up and head into my bedroom, spotting it on the nightstand. I pick it up and swipe the screen. Nothing. My phone is off.

I press the power button and watch as it turns back on. As soon as it powers up, it dings with a dozen missed calls and a ton of texts.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim when I hear a loud knock on the front door.

“Chelsea, are you home? Chelsea!” Lynn calls out, knocking persistently.

I tie my robe for the first time since putting it on and head down the stairs. Lynn spots me descending.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay. Didn’t you get any of my calls? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“My phone was off. I just turned it back on,” I explain as I reach the bottom of the stairs. Lynn opens the door and steps in, enveloping me in a tight hug.

“I was worried about you. What do you mean your phone was off? You always have your phone on,” Lynn says.

“I know, and it was off. I never turn it off.”

“The reason I was calling you this morning was to tell you Zoey called me.”

“Good. Is she doing okay?” I ask.

“She’s scared.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said the tub in your bathroom attacked her the other night when she stayed.”

“She told me the same thing that night, standing in my office doorway, dripping wet.

“She also said she saw footprints leading out of the bathroom while she was still in the tub. I went in to check. There were only her footprints.”

“I thought she was joking when she told me the story,” Lynn says as we walk into the kitchen.

“I mean, all we did was eat frozen pizza and drink two bottles of wine. I told her to sleep it off. She was drunk,” I tell her.

“She told me she was sick the next morning. Probably food poisoning,” Lynn says.

“How? I ate the same thing,” I say, pulling a beer out of the refrigerator. I hold one up, and she nods. I twist off the cap and hand it to her, then grab one for myself. Lynn takes a sip.

“Okay, I got to know. Why are you in a bathrobe in the late afternoon? You have this grin on your face like you just had sex.”

“I did!”

“Oh, Chelsea. You didn’t let Brian come back?” she asks, sounding disappointed.

“Hell, no!” I exclaim.

“Then who?”

“Christopher,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“Christopher who? Have I met him before?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, I met him yesterday. Don’t yell at me,” I say, lowering my gaze.

“Chelsea Payton, you little minx!” Lynn exclaims, laughing at me. “What? I mean, how did that happen?”

“He came over after I took Zoey home. He talked about Dorothy and how she was a beautiful person. He helped her with a couple of her books.

“He even showed me where the pond is. The pond is also beautiful. Dorothy would write there. She would take legal pads and pencils, then just sit there and write for hours.”

I take a seat at the breakfast bar where Chris and I had our fun. I can’t help but smile. “He was a gentleman, and he’s hot. So I invited him over for dinner.”

I take another sip of my beer and smile again. “He came over wearing ripped jeans and an open shirt. As you can see, we didn’t eat,” I say, gesturing at all the food on the stove.

“He strolled up to me, kissed me, and then we were tangled up in each other. The sex was mind-blowing. He knew exactly where to touch me. I lost track of how many times I climaxed. He was just that good.”

“So where’s his place?” she inquires, propping her head up with her elbows on the bar.

“Behind here. There’s a little path that leads to his house.” I take another sip of my drink. “The weirdest part is, remember Dwayne, the character from my first book?”

“The handsome one,” she recalls.

“Exactly. I dreamed him up. But Christopher is just like him. His build, his hair, his blue eyes. Even his cock is perfect.”

Lynn chokes on her beer, caught off guard.

“Brian’s going to be mad I slept with a guy I barely know.”

“Screw Brian. He cheated on you first. For all we know, he’s been screwing Bunny for ages. He got caught. This was payback sex,” Lynn declares, raising her beer. “Was it better than Brian?”

I nod. “A hundred times better.”

“Then don’t sweat it,” Lynn advises.

“I just feel guilty about leaving him with a house that was supposed to be ours. We had plans for after the wedding, even to start a family.”

“Are you considering going back to him? He made his choice and fucked a girl on a dare. I don’t think I could trust my boyfriend after that. Hell, we’re not even on speaking terms right now, and it’s not about sex,” Lynn points out.

“You’re right,” I concede.

“Look at it from my point of view. All this,” she gestures around the room, “all this happened for a reason. A lot of this was handed to you.

“Brian cheating on you is the reason you’re happy now,” Lynn asserts, finishing off her beer.

“I’m going to head home and find my battery-operated boyfriend and have a little fun. I mean, all your talk about amazing sex has me all riled up. Love you, girl.”

I watch as she starts to leave.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she calls out as the screen door slams shut.

I step out onto the porch with my beer and settle into the swing.