Chapter 1
Hadley
I purse my lips, staring at my reflection in the closet mirror. At Layla’s suggestion, I put on a sheer white top that showcases the lacy black bra underneath and a matching onyx skirt.
“How do I look?” I ask the two girls perching on the edge of the bed. Layla, as always, is the epitome of perfection and raw sexuality. Even in her ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, she looks as if she just stepped off a fashion runway. Her dark hair is stylishly curled away from her porcelain face that’s complete with dewy features and red, plush lips.
Beside her, Aggie looks like…well…like an eighty-year-old, sex-starved woman. Today, she’s wearing bunny ears and a crop top. Her wrinkled hands are fondling her breasts through the thin material.
Crazy fucking bitch.
“Beautiful,” Layla assures me, tucking a strand of silky black hair behind her ear. “He’s a lucky man.”
“You know who’s a lucky man?” Aggie cuts in, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “The man who got a taste of paradise. A taste of my baby maker. I remember those days…” Her tone turns wistful, dreamy almost. “He set a literal trap for me on the forest floor. I was out for a walk with my pussy cat…well…actually I was just airing out my own pussy who sometimes hisses like a cat, when suddenly, I found myself tangled in a rope net high in a tree, a wedgie the size of—”
“Aggie,” I say, fighting off an encroaching headache. The recollections of her sexual escapades do that to me.
Turning once more towards the mirror, I attempt to tame a wayward curl. After a moment of ineffectually brushing it away, I decide to leave it hanging in front of my eyes.
“You look really pretty, Had,” Layla offers, coming to stand behind me in the mirror. She gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. “Promise.”
“I think I’m going to say it,” I admit, fiddling with the hem of my skirt. When Layla merely quirks a brow, remaining silent, I elaborate. “I’m going to tell him the truth about my feelings…how I feel about him.” The words tumble from my mouth, but now that I have begun talking, I can’t seem to stop. “I’m going to tell him I love him.”
The realization settles in my gut like lead, intertwining with the ball of nerves already there. My hands are sweaty, and I subtly attempt to wipe them on my skirt.
“You’re going to tell him you love him?” Layla asks uneasily. Her lips are turned down so far, I’m afraid her face will stick like that. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You haven’t known him long.”
For some reason, her words cause indignation to rush through me, burning me. An inferno just beneath the surface.
“Why does that matter?” I inquire angrily. “Wouldn’t I know how I feel? I’m not stupid, Layla. I know what love is…and this? It’s love. Real, untainted love.”
My mind conjures up images of the last time I saw him. His eyes, emanating nothing but love and warmth. His hand on mine. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so close to someone, to feel as if you’re complete whenever they’re present. This sensation is addicting.
“Have you banged yet?” Aggie asks crassly, but very seriously. “You know the rules. If you bang a guy, you automatically become his baby mama.” When I give her a look, she shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t shoot the messenger. That’s relationship one-oh-one. Just like you have to ask for oral at least once a day to maintain a happy, healthy relationship. Anything less than that, and you’re nothing better than a cock-pot.”
I lean towards Layla. “Did you understand any of that?”
“I think she said something about the necessity of oral in a healthy relationship,” she whispers back.
Duly noted, Aggie. Duly fucking noted.
Straightening, I brush my hands down my skirt once more, twisting and turning in front of the mirror. I feel hot. Sexy. Desirable.
Hopefully, he’ll think the same thing.
“I need to go and meet him.” Checking my phone—yes, there are phones in the Afterlife. I think there’s an app called AfterBang, but I haven’t used it yet. Besides that, it doesn’t do anything but tell time. I wave goodbye to Layla and Aggie.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Layla asks anxiously. She nibbles her bottom lip, her worry physically manifesting itself.
Aggie, of course, just whips off her shirt, saggy tits on full display for the world.
“Lead him to me,” she purrs suggestively, and I grimace.
“Um…I’m not going to lead my boyfriend—errr—to you.”
Yeah. No.
Did not need that visual running rampant through my head.
Cue—vomit. Lots and lots of vomit.
“Sheath it before you reap it!” Aggie calls helpfully. “Make sure that he pulls it all the way out. And don’t sit on his face for too long. You might accidentally suffocate him.”
“Speaking from experience?” Layla asks dryly.
Aggie nods solemnly. “The longest he lasted was two minutes and thirteen seconds. I think I need Aquaman to handle me. He can hold his breath forever.”
What. The. Fuck?
“Kinky bitch,” I murmur, stepping out of the room and shutting the door.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for what I have to do. What I’m going to tell him.
My stomach is a tumultuous mixture of dread and excitement.
In only a few minutes, I’ll be confessing my feelings to the love of my life. And hopefully, he’ll confess it back.
The night is alarmingly cold. In the Afterlife, there’s usually only one type of weather—warm with a light wind.
Tonight, that wind chills me to the very bone and whips my hair around my face. There are no stars in the sky, and the moon is the size of a clipped fingernail. I stumble down the winding pathway bogged down with weeds, some trampled but others growing strong. I curse Layla and my choice of clothing. It does very little to quell the cold.
Knowing Aggie, she’ll make a comment about my kahoot needing a nice breeze. Probably say it’ll add stimulation.
I quicken my pace, following the familiar trail.
After a moment, the tree house comes into view.
He doesn’t know for certain where these various tree houses came from, erected around campus, but he claimed this one as his own.
Steeling myself, I climb up the rickety ladder—eternally grateful there’s no one behind me to look up my skirt—before tentatively opening the trap door under it.
“Hello?” I whisper, feeling suddenly shy. It’s an emotion I’m unfamiliar with.
But here I am, putting myself on the line. Confessing feelings, saying words I have never told anyone before. I don’t even know where to begin.
A part of me wishes I had planned this better, written a soliloquy, perhaps. Maybe then I wouldn’t be such an anxious mess.
Already, my nerves are running haywire. I can barely breathe, barely think through the bundle of nerves churning my stomach uncomfortably.
This man has saved me in more ways than one. He has befriended me, mentored me, saved my dumbass life when I fell off a bridge. He has shown me how to survive in Hell and guided me through my first reaping. Through the deaths and murders, he has remained by my side. An impenetrable, immovable wall of support and friendship.