Figuring C.J. had slunk off to his room, Jessie snuck downstairs, hoping to avoid him. She was glad when she didn’t bump into him. She certainly didn’t want to have another discussion with him on her name.
She had spent the better part of the day in her room, sulking if you will, on the bed. She’d tried, when she’d first been out of college, applying for some of the bigger magazine companies, and even newspapers as well. It had taken her nearly a year before she had figured out it wasn’t something she was doing wrong that was preventing her from getting better jobs. It had been the fact that she was female.
Then she’d heard about an opening at Hoax Busters, and she had applied. She’d thought she would be looking into businesses that were fraudulent, companies that played just shy of the illegitimate line. But instead she had been handed one fluff case after another. For five years now she’d been practically begging her editor to let her have something with more juice to it, yet still she was handed the fluff. Hence the reason she was here.
To be honest, she had planned on staying one night, write her report and get it over with. She didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was haunted or not—not that she believed in such things. She was going to write the report on the house, saying that the owners claims of spiritual beings in the house was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to gain attention—what did it matter anyway? Then she’d planned to pack a bag and head to New York in hopes of a better life.
And now here she was, stuck in the damn house and feeling like crap.
Deciding to forgo the food, Jessie pulled out the bottle of scotch she’d found in one of the kitchen cupboards.
Grabbing a glass, she headed to the living room. She was going to wallow, damn it, and get good and drunk.
That was exactly what C.J. found an hour later as he entered the room. One look at Jessica told volumes; she was blitzed. The woman couldn’t even hold herself up, and she was leaning against the sofa, for pity sake. Wondering why she was on this drunk fest, he sat down across from her on the floor.
“Howdy.” She saluted him—or at least she attempted to, but her body was just not coordinated enough and she slid to the side laughing.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Only this much,” she slurred, holding up her index finger and thumb spaced less than a hairs width apart.
He didn’t believe her for one second. “Was that bottle full when you started?” Lifting the half empty bottle, he frowned.
“I broke the seal on that baby and christened this place with it.” She laughed to herself, nearly falling over.
He caught her, righted her, shaking his head. “Okay, so tell me why you decided to get yourself slobbering drunk?” he removed the cap and took a sip, admiring the taste.
“I’m stuck here with you.” She laughed, holding her gut as if it ached.
His lips pursed, he took another sip. “And the real reason is…?
Holding her empty glass out to him, she spoke barely audible. “Life sucks.’
“It’s not so bad.”
“What do you know, you have it all. A rich grandfather, respect, money, fuck, you’re the tops.” She slurred, frowning at the small amount he had put in her glass.
He didn’t have it all, yet. “And what do you have,
“Jessie,” she slurred.
“Fine, Jessie.” He took another sip.
“Nothing. I don’t even own that piece of crap car yet.
I’m still making payments and it keeps breaking down on me.” She wobbled, righted herself.
“You got a warrantee on it?” Placing the bottle to his lips, he managed to get in a good swallow before she yanked it out of his hands.
“Not any more. You know, I swear they rigged the damn thing so it worked while it was on warrantee, then the second the warrantee is up—bam, everything breaks down and you’re left holding the bag.”
He snuck the bottle from her hand while she was distracted by her anger and took a few big gulps. “You sound paranoid, Jessie.”
“It’s a fact. I bought a VCR last year, had it all of six months before the damn thing conked out on me.” She snatched the bottle back, took a sip.
“Did you buy an extended warrantee?” His mouth was beginning to feel numb and he knew the alcohol was the cause. He was getting drunk.
She snorted, waving her hand in the air. “Like I’m made of money.”
Taking the bottle from her, he noticed it was nearly empty. Deciding they’d both had enough, he finished it off. “If you buy cheap, you’re going to get cheap. Save up
your money and buy something worthwhile and you won’t have to worry about it breaking down.” Whoa, the room was spinning. Good thing there was no more booze left.
He turned his head to the sound of a bottle being opened.
“Don’t lecture me, Dowling.” She tipped the bottle back and drank a fair amount down before her yanked it from her hands, spilling a great deal of it on her shirt.
“Where did that come from?” his words slurring as he spoke.
“The ghosts gave it to me.” She began to laugh with near hysterics.
“Yeah, ha ha, funny, Jessica.”
“Jessie,” she insisted, nearly falling over.
“Jessie,” he corrected. “No more for you.” Setting the bottle aside, he pulled the cigarette pack from his shirt pocket and attempted to light it up. It wasn’t easy, given the fact that he was seeing double of everything.
“Hey, gimme one of those.” She reached out, falling on him.
“Darling, you are sloshed.” He laughed as he held her up, her head wobbling.
“Yep, I am.” She stole the cigarette from his lips, and placed it between hers. “Hey, look, I’m you.” She giggled, losing the cigarette; it dropped down onto his lap. “I’ll get it.”
“Uh, I can manage thanks.” Then again, having her hands groping him might not be so bad. Ah, let her have some fun, he thought, enjoying the way she searched his lap. Good thing he hadn’t been able to light it.
“I’ll get it,” she demanded, trying to hold herself up.
“You’re too drunk.”
“So are you.” She poked his chest with the cigarette she’d finally managed to grab, her head wobbling.
He snatched the cigarette from her. “Not as drunk as you, darling.” But damn close.
She snorted, grabbing the cigarette back from him. “I got your cigarette,” she teased, leaning back, waving it in his face.
Shaking his head, he lunged for it, toppling her over, falling on top of her.
Laughing, she stretched her arm out, trying to prevent him from grabbing the cigarette. “You want it, come and get it.”
“Oh, I want it alright, but not the cigarette.”
“Yeah? You want me, huh?”
“Then what are you waiting for, Dowling?”
Their eyes met and held. In unison, he grabbed her head, she grabbed his and they both dove into the kiss.
Tongues touched, teased, while teeth scraped. Panting with desire, they clung to one another, hands roaming over warm, aroused flesh, tearing at the clothing that restricted them.
Rolling on the floor, legs tangling, they explored each other with wild fervor.
Yanking her tank top away, C.J. shoved the bra aside then devoured the ripe pink nipples that called out to be pleasured. She arched as he suckled, her fingers digging into his hair. Awkwardly, he yanked at her shorts, fighting with the clasp. She wiggled beneath him as he slid the cloth down, exposing warm moist flesh. He needed her in the worst way and he needed her now.
Tearing at his shirt, pulling it over his head, she sunk her short nails into his damp flesh, nearly sending him over the edge. Raw desire pulling at him, he climbed on top, and plunged. She gasped and he paused, his eyes meeting hers, worried that he’d gone to fast. But when she yanked him down, taking his bottom lip between her teeth, spreading for him, he knew she wanted it as much as he did.
Their body’s pumped, thrust, wiggled and rolled as they let desire have its way.
All around them, chaos ensued as the spirit let loose.