Haunting-Adeline

Just to fuck with him, I turn my head and pretend to shout something
out.
“What are you doing?” I say aloud, aiming my words towards a ghost
that’ll never reply.
Looking back at my shadow, I see him pull out his phone, the blue light
ge ng lost in the depths of his hood as he looks at something. Several
seconds later, he tucks it away in his pocket, slides out another cigare e
from the pack, and lights it up. Chain smoker. Gross.
He s cks around for another fi een minutes. And during that me, I
scarcely look away. It feels like a game almost, and I’ve always been a sore
loser.
I’m thanking Jesus I don’t have to travel for this book signing event.
Another big romance author is hos ng it, and luckily, it takes place in good
ol’ Sea le.
A thin layer of sweat coats my skin as I look myself over one last me in
the mirror.
“You’ve done a million of these, girlfriend. You’re going to be fine,” Daya
assures from behind me. I’m wearing a fla ering red blouse that shows off
my body nicely without looking too racy or inappropriate and ripped black
mom jeans. I painted my lips red and slipped on comfortable checkered
Vans.
My cinnamon hair is curled into loose beach waves, comple ng the
casual but chic look. I don’t usually like to dress up for these things. I’m
si ng in a chair all day, so I make sure to look nice enough to take pictures
with and leave the rest to comfort.
I sniff my armpit, double checking that my deodorant didn’t lie to me
and doesn’t fight against tough odors.
“I know, but it doesn’t make them any easier,” I grumble.
“What do you call yourself?” Daya asks, quirking a brow at me.
I sigh. “A master manipulator.”
“Why?”