Long ago, Julia Wilkinson left home and didn’t look back. Now she’s unwillingly facing her parents' ghosts—and their plans for her love life.
Sam Bradley has a ghost of his own, his interfering and opinionated deceased father. He’s a parent with definite ideas about whom Sam should date.
Julia and Sam think they're happy singles and resist their supernatural matchmakers. But when the ghosts combine efforts, all bets are off. Will Julia and Sam heed advice from the other side, or will they go their own way?
I never missed one meet, son. Do me proud and treat this girl right. She’s what you need, even if you won’t admit it to yourself.
Sam gulped his soft drink sure the resulting brain freeze would paralyze his thoughts. Having a parent along, if only in thought, on the closest date experience he’d had in months didn’t appeal. Not on any level, physical or ghostly.
The Knight’s play-by-play announcer’s voice boomed across the field. “Play ball!”
Sam directed his attention to the diamond, watching the lead off Durham player stepping into the batter’s box. Shoot. I need to get laid worse than I thought. He was glad when no thought about repercussions ghosted through his mind.
Julia balanced her soft drink on their shared armrest. “You don’t mind if I put this here, do you? I’m afraid if I put my cup on the ground, I’ll kick it over. Oh, and excuse me, but I need to run to the ladies.” She blushed. “To get cleaned up. I’m not always so messy.”
His breath caught. The expression in her golden brown eyes seemed a mix of wary defiance. His dick perked. He stood, wondering if he could hide his interest when she pushed past.
“No, not a problem. But I’ll hold your cola for you.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that might be a better idea.”
Sam should have been watching her hand instead of getting lost in her gaze. And he probably should have been paying attention to his own actions. That was his first thought when the ice cubes and sticky brown soda from both their drinks caught him in the crotch, waking him to stunned alertness like his alarm clock every Monday morning.
Julia’s hand moved toward his crotch then stopped. “Oh, I’m, ah, oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I thought you had your hand on the cup or I wouldn’t have let go. Are you okay? Shoot. Stupid question. Of course you’re not.”
She stared at his now quiescent cock. One that shivered in his shorts but was thinking about coming out to play under her heated gaze.
Son, do I need to remind you of your manners? Escort her to the restroom for goodness sake. Then clean yourself up. You’re a mess. In more ways than one.