The party was everything I wasn't—loud, reckless, a blur of smoke and cheap alcohol. I was just here because my roommate dragged me along. Honestly, I wanted the free food.
Then she walked in.
Black boots, leather jacket, eyes like midnight storms. She didn't just enter the room; she owned it. Every head turned. Everyone stopped. Everyone watched.
She looked straight at me.
My heart skipped. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me in place.
"So," she said, voice low and smooth as velvet, "you don't look like you belong here."
I swallowed hard, trying to play it cool. "I don't."
She laughed—a sound sharp and wild—and stepped closer, the scent of jasmine and something darker wrapping around me.
"I'm Lila."
"Ethan," I said, forgetting all my usual awkwardness.
She smiled, a dangerous curve of lips that promised secrets.
"Ever been kissed by someone you'll regret?"
"No," I said, more certain than I felt.
"Want to try?"
Before I could think twice, she grabbed me by the collar and pressed her lips to mine.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.
It was fire and shadows.
Her hands tangled in my hair. My fingers gripped the back of her jacket, desperate to pull her closer. The room disappeared—the noise, the people, everything—but that kiss.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes glittered like she knew a secret meant to haunt me.
"I'm not who you think I am, Ethan,"
she whispered. Then she was gone.
Three days later, I'm sitting in my 10 a.m. economics lecture, the professor's droning voice failing to cut through the haze of her scent still on my skin.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
You weren't supposed to remember me.
My breath catches.
Someone taps my shoulder. Darren, my only normal friend, leans down.
"You good? You look like you saw a ghost."
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to say no.
But I know the truth.
I kissed a ghost...