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gloss. Her tongue brushed across my lips, and I could barely think.
    Huh. Maybe I should take a chance like that more often.

W ill Killian is a surprisingly good kisser. I mean you’d never know it by looking at him. He’s perpetually pale with scruffy black hair, a seriously questionable wardrobe, and an attitude that makes Eeyore look like a ray of sunshine. One might think he wouldn’t have had a chance to get much kissing practice, especially what with most people considering him crazy. And yet…wow.
    I stopped on the sidewalk outside of Will’s house, running a tentative finger over my mouth. His mom had come home before things could get too intense, and I had to get out of his room before she barged in. But my lips still felt puffy in that “I’ve been thoroughly kissed” way. Some guys seem to have the impression they should try to swallow half of your face. But—color me surprised—not Will. He was gentle and sweet, and yet not at all afraid to step up and take the lead.
    I shivered in delight at the thought. At one point, he’d pulled me into his bedroom and…
    “Just a cozy night in, huh?” a sarcastic voice asked from behind me.
    I froze, startled, and then groaned inwardly when I realized I recognized the speaker. She’d found me again. “Jealous?” I asked, turning around.
    Liesel Marks stood on the sidewalk a few feet behind me. The streetlight overhead turned her pink polka-dotted prom dress into a shade of white with brighter white speckles. Behind her, as always, hovering on the edge of the shadows, was her longtime prom date, Eric Hargrove. He was dressed in the best of powder-blue tuxedo finery. They looked exactly like what they were: escapees from a prom inthe late seventies.
    But they hadn’t really escaped anything. They were stuck here, in between, just like the rest of us. Liesel and Eric had died in a fiery car crash on prom night, a cautionary tale for high school students everywhere. Well, living ones anyway. I personally couldn’t have cared less. Karma is a bitch, and you get what you get when you steal someone else’s guy.
    “Right,” Liesel snorted. “Like I want to be the ghosttalker’s pet.”
    On my very first day as Will’s spirit guide, Liesel had been the one to explain, very mockingly, all the downsides to the job. They weren’t so bad, mostly. I showed up wherever Will was at the time of my death or anytime I disappeared. And I could be “called” to him, if he concentrated on it. That was it. But I had no such powers over him, unfortunately.
    It was something I didn’t like to think about, and since Will knew better than to try to make me heel, it wasn’t really worth consideration anyway. Except when Liesel brought it up just to rub it in my face, of course.
    “What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth. Damn it, my make-out high was wearing off.
    “We need the medium to do something for us,” she said without so much as a backward glance at Eric. He rocked on his heels in the background, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets, looking uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for him, tied to this harpy for all eternity, or at least the foreseeable future, just because his hormones got the better of him. Once again, my rule about not dating someone unless they’re worthy of you proves true. You know…don’t go out with someone you don’t really like—or like only for one thing—because you could die and then be stuck with him/her forever. Talk about hell.
    “Yeah, I know,” I said to Liesel. “I got it. Get Mrs. Pederson to forgive you for stealing her man and doing the nasty with him before getting him killed.”
    Liesel and Claire LaForet Pederson, who also happened to be the Brit Lit teacher at our former high school, hadbeen best friends growing up, until Liesel had pulled herman-stealing crap and then died. Of course, none of that explained why Eric was still stuck here. Technically, from what I’d been able to gather from Liesel’s