Ghost for Sale. Sandra Cox

left. I took a sip.

      “What are you drinking?” Liam looked at my glass wistfully.

      Marcy and Kendra were still chatting. I put my hand over my face and mumbled in a low voice, “Basically, a non-alcoholic fruit fizzy.”

      He looked down his nose. “A girl’s drink.”

      “Guys like it too.” Just then, the band stopped playing and the noise went down a few decibels.

      “What did you say?” Marcy asked.

      “I said the coolers hit the spot.” I raised my glass. She raised hers and went back to chatting with Kendra.

      “What do you think of Jimmy’s?” I asked after making sure my cousin and her friend were still occupied.

      He tipped his chair back, cupped his hands behind his head, and studied his surroundings. “Fascinating. Times have certainly changed.”

      I waited till the band started back up before I spoke behind my hand. “Thank goodness.”

      “Amen.” He leered at a blonde in a low-cut plum top and tight Capris.

      Men.

      Liam winced as the guitar shrieked. “The music’s not exactly gentle or melodious. But it has heart,” he added fairly. GRIT segued into a slow number while the soloist, Belamy Joyce, a young woman with blue-spiked hair, crooned about her brokenhearted lover. Liam nodded. “Now that’s more like it.”

      A young red-headed guy with a stocky body tapped me on the shoulder. He leaned forward, cupped his hands together, and shouted over the noise, “Care to dance?”

      Liam didn’t wait for me to make up my mind. “Don’t feel you need to babysit me. I’m going to mingle.” Poof, he was gone.

      Wow. My breath stalled.

      “Would you like to dance?” the guy repeated, throwing his voice to make it heard.

      “I’d love to dance.” I preferred fast music, but if the band stayed true to form the slow song would be short. He waved a hand at his ear, signaling he couldn’t hear me.

      “Never mind.” My chair scraped across the floor as I shoved it back.

      We got to the floor just as the slow song ended. The drummer beat out a rhythm, and Belamy Joyce belted out a tune in a high shrill voice. The redhead shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I’m Daniel,” he said as he began to dance.

      “Caitlin.”

      “Pleased to meet you, Caitlin,” he bellowed as he waved his arms around and stomped to the beat.

      I did the same, occasionally bumping into one of the other dancers on the crowded floor. After six sweaty minutes, the music shifted to another slow song, and Daniel eased me into his arms where we swayed back and forth in silence, my hands on his shoulders, his wrapped around my waist.

      His hands dipped till they rested on my butt, and his lips found my neck. Crap! My muscles grew taut. I put my hands on his chest to shove him away when his head popped backward and his hands flew up, then flopped to his side. Wild eyed, he looked all around.

      Liam stood with his hands fisted on his hips, expression thunderous.

      “Someone jerked my arms right off you.” Daniel’s hand shook as he ran his fingers through his hair. The red strands stood on end in crazy disarray.

      “Really?” I pushed skepticism into my voice and left him. I wound my way through the sea of couples to the table. Daniel stood in the middle of the floor, his head swiveling back and forth as he stared around him. With a perplexed look, he shook his head and headed for the bar.

      I plopped down in my seat and looked around. Marcy was dancing with a handsome black-haired boy, and Kendra snaked her way toward Daniel. “Good luck and good riddance.”

      “Why did you let him touch you like that?” Liam glared as he towered over me.

      My nerves were shot. No matter how natural it seemed talking to Liam, it wasn’t. He wasn’t human, in the flesh and blood sense of the word. I’d been conversing all evening with ectoplasm. And for him to question my morals? Me. Of all people. The only eighteen-year-old virgin left in Virginia.

      “I don’t need any lectures from a ghost on moral behavior, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I shot back, before I noticed the girl at the next table staring at me. My teeth clicked together as I turned my back on Liam.

      “Would you care to dance?”

      My glance slid up worn, fitted jeans to a short-sleeved white shirt and a tan throat. It halted at an average-looking face with light blue eyes and thick chestnut hair that stood out in mild disarray.

      He held out his hand, confident, his eyes filled with kindness. I slipped my hand in his, and he led me to the dance floor, drew me into his arms, and held me close, but not too close, actually moving in time to the music, not just swaying on his feet. “I’m Patrick.”

      “Caitlin.” My throat was tight, my voice strained. Having a fight with a ghost will do that to you.

      “I’ve seen you here before.”

      My head jerked up, and I narrowed my eyes.

      He laughed, a low easy sound. “I’m not a stalker. You’re just a very attractive woman. I’d have to be blind not to notice.” He smiled when he said it and gained points by not tightening his grip.

      “Everyone comes to Jimmy’s.”

      He nodded in agreement. We chatted easily and continued to dance when the band switched to a fast number. Patrick was a good dancer and had a strong sense of rhythm.

      There was no sign of Liam. Fine, maybe he’d gone to haunt someone else. Nonetheless, his absence made my stomach quiver and my nerves jump.

      As the evening wore on and I didn’t spot him, my unease grew. I tried to forget about it and enjoy Patrick. He was easy to be with, maybe because he was comfortable with himself. He seemed caring and confident with no pretensions, an unusual combination in a boy my age.

      But no matter how much I enjoyed Patrick’s company, I couldn’t relax. I was waiting for a ghost.

      About midnight, Marcy approached us on the dance floor. “Ready to go?”

      “Sure.”

      She turned to Patrick and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Marcy.”

      He shook it. “Patrick.”

      “Nice meeting you, Patrick. Let’s go, Cuz.”

      “Okay.” The room was packed, but no Liam. Nerves skittered just under my skin. The ghost was not my responsibility…regardless of how much it seemed like he was. I held out my hand to Patrick. “It’s been a fun evening.”

      He took it and held it, his clasp warm. “I want to see you again.”

      “I’d like that.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on and leaned in. Amusement danced in his brown eyes. “Would you give me your number?”

      “Oh, sure.” I rattled it off, heat climbing my face.

      “Got it.”

      “Even without writing it down?” My neck cricked as I tilted my head up. He was several inches taller than me.

      “Photographic memory.”

      “I’m jealous.”

      “I hate to break this up, but can we go?” Marcy asked, and shifted on her feet. She wrinkled her brow and scrubbed her forehead.

      “Headache?”

      “Big time.”

      “We’ve got to go.” I eased away from Patrick till I was at arm’s length.

      “You’re