I’m chewing my lip again when I lower the chart and turn back to him. Note to self: never buy a mood ring again. “Like I said, it doesn’t actually mean anything. Your ring turned dark blue because you’re impossibly ho . . .”—Nope, not making that mistake again—“Thermogenic.”

I grin, full and proud. That’s right. Good luck dirty-talking that one, mister.

A low, guttural sound bubbles up through his throat, past a smile that shows off a row of perfectly straight, white teeth that I’ve never seen on display before, his shoulders and chest shaking. Oh my god. He’s laughing. And it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard him make—that’s saying something. It’s a deep rumble, soft yet intoxicating, and it caresses everything from my ears to my neck, right through my chest, my stomach, until it hits the tips of my toes, literally making them curl.

After a beat, it quiets, his shoulders still shaking gently as he lets out a sigh. But it’s not a frustrated sigh, or even pensive, like the ones he’s given me before. It’s as close to carefree as I’ve ever seen from him. He runs a large hand through those thick strands of hair, then relaxes deeper into the seat, a hint of a smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth when he looks at me.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. “You should do that more.”

“What?”

“Laugh. It suits you.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever done it before.”

“Never?”

He shakes his head, sticking one hand into the pocket of his jeans as he spreads his legs.

“Wow.” I don’t like seeing the way verbalizing that realization makes his face fall, so I let myself smile coyly, trying to lighten the mood. “So I’m the first girl to ever make you laugh, hmm?”

He angles his head toward me, looking at me long and hard. There’s nothing ‘light’ about the way he slowly says, “You’re the first girl to make me do a lot of things.”

A shiver runs down my back, and I’m pretty sure my heart actually skips a beat. There are so many things I can say to that, but I have no idea what direction to take this in.

The knock at the door makes me jump, before quickly filling me with relief. I’m off the hook. For now. “Just a second.” I push myself up from the loveseat and cross the room, already missing his warmth when I reach the door and pull it open.

Claire’s big, blue eyes meet my gaze, and I know something’s off. Even her smile can’t hide the broken look behind her expression. “Hey,” she says softly, “mind if I hang out here for a little bit before heading home?”

Shoot. I glance over my shoulder to see him watching us. He squints, rubs his chin, then motions to let her in. I arch a brow, and I mouth, You sure? After what happened last time I had a guest while he was present, I don’t know if this is such a good idea. But the corner of his lips tip up, eyes glimmering with something—amusement?—when he mouths back, You won’t even realize I’m here.

I snort aloud and roll my eyes, knowing just how unlikely that is, and his mouth curves deeper until his dimple shows. There’s something wolfish in that crooked smile, giving me the urge to swallow.

“Lou?” Claire’s gentle voice pulls my attention back to her, and she peeks around me, trying to get a better look at my apparently empty room. “Sorry, did I interrupt? Do you already have company?”

“Oh—no, sorry. Of course you can hang out here.” I step aside to let her enter, then lock the door behind her. Just a crazy person laughing at an empty room, that’s me.

I turn back to face her, trying my best to avoid looking over at the 6’4” man lounging on my loveseat. Not easy to do when, out of the corner of my eye, I can still see him observing me, sitting back comfortably like he’s at a drive-in and I’m his entertainment for the evening.

“Mmm, it’s nice and cozy in here,” Claire murmurs, already unbuttoning her coat.

“Yeah, just turned off the fireplace,” I lie, before narrowing my eyes accusingly at him. Won’t even realize I’m here, my ass. Not that he can do anything about that, I suppose.

He just smirks, stretching his legs out further.

Claire drapes her coat over the rocking chair, then closes her eyes and heaves a deep breath. A second later, she opens them again and curves her pink-glossed lips upward, but it’s forced. “Thanks. I should’ve called first, I know—”

“Hey, you can always drop by. Okay?”

Her entire posture relaxes, and she gives me the first genuine smile since she showed up. “Thank you.”

I step toward her, my brows furrowing. “You all right?”

“Of course I am.” Her eyes dart to the ground before coming back up. “Just, Dylan’s been so busy. He just took on an extra job, and . . . anyway, he’s a hard worker and I totally support him, I do.” She pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek and shuffling her feet. “But this is the third time he’s cancelled on me this week and, well, obviously I’m the kind of girl that does better around company, huh? Hello, I’m Little Miss Chatterbox over here.”

She chuckles weakly at that, and I hate it. I hate how that jerk’s actions are making her talk about herself as though some of the best parts of who she is might actually be faults. I want to tell her that, too. That she deserves better, and Dylan doesn’t deserve to feel the warmth of her constant sunshine. He’s a leech, and leeches suck you dry until there’s nothing left to give. But something about the way her kind eyes are wide and vulnerable, it makes me think maybe the quieter side of friendship will be better for her soul right now.

“Loners like me need people like you in the world, Claire. Otherwise we’d spend all day talking to our invisible friends, never leaving our room.”

She laughs, a full-hearted belly laugh that makes me smile.

I glance over at my own personal invisible friend and quirk my head at the soft expression that’s taken over his face. His eyes are still observant, but they’re also warm, gentle, and his lips tilt up when our eyes connect. A flock of butterflies take flight in my stomach at such a sweet look, and I give him a little smile back before returning my attention to Claire. “So what’s it going to be? Dance party or sing off?”

Her mouth opens, and she shakes her head. “Uh-uh, no way. I’m actually a terrible dancer, and I only sing in the shower.”

“Hey, you’re the one who knocked on my door, and it just so happens I’m in a dancing mood now that I finally got my music back. You’re welcome to sit and watch but . . . that might get a little awkward.”

She lets out another laugh. “Okay, fine. Can I borrow some of your clothes, though? These jeans are way too tight to dance in.”

“Yup, right over here.” I take her to my dresser and let her pick out a pair of shorts and a top, then lead her into the bathroom.

When I turn back around, Death is standing. One hand rests in his pocket, the other rubs the side of his sharp jaw. “It was good seeing you, Lou.”

My heart flutters at the simple words. For a second, it sounds like he’s a normal guy, just hanging out with a girl. For a second, it feels like whatever this is between us could be real. For a second, I even believe it. I have to close my eyes briefly to shake the thought away. When I open them again, he’s taking a careful step toward me.

“Can I see you again? Would you . . .” His gaze flicks down, then slowly rises back up. “Would that be okay with you?”

My chest. It’s about to burst. I nod for a moment as I try to find my voice, tension thickening the air around us. When I finally respond, my sarcasm coping mechanism kicks in before I can stop it, “Anytime, Grim.”

“Grim?”

I glance up at him and bat my lashes innocently. “Yeah. You know, as in the Grim Reaper.”

A look of confusion crosses over his handsome face. “Who?”

“Seriously?” I feel my shoulders relax, almost forgetting the tension as my mouth falls open. “Death himself doesn’t know who the Grim Reaper is?”

His eyes narrow, brows pucker. “Should I?”

I chuckle softly. “I guess not. It feels weird calling you Death, though, so I thought I’d try it out. You don’t like it?”

The crease in his brows deepens, and he looks like he’s genuinely considering it. “I don’t know.”

“No, you’re right. It’s still way too morbid. How about if I drop the ‘rim’ and just call you G?” His nose crinkles. “Ghost boy?” He shakes his head, a smile toying with the corner of his lips. “Gumdrop?”

“Goodnight, Lou.” His dimple flashes, head still shaking as he fades.

It’s quicker this time, the way it starts, a translucent shimmer of color until there’s nothing at all, and his sudden absence hurts me in a way I’ve never experienced before. I feel the light in my eyes die down, the pounding strum in my chest quiets, the air around me returns to its natural cool chill, and I just want him to come back.

I want him to stay.

It’s not until the bathroom door clicks and Claire steps out that it hits me: Tonight, he had a choice. He was able to leave at will. He wasn’t here because he had to be.

A rush of air pours out of me at the realization, like my lungs are being released from a hold I didn’t even know they were trapped in.

He was here, with me, because he wanted to be.