I shrugged. “We’re all adults here. And like I said, I’m not ashamed of my body. And he’s kind of a horrible pervert, if he is one, because he’s being a gentleman and facing the wall. Plus, he’s had a change of heart on you being part of the pillow fight.”
“Uh, Marcy, I’m not sure many men would turn down a chance to see you naked,” she said. “Between your voice and your rack, you’re basically a modern-day Marilyn Monroe—if she was a hippie chick who hugged trees and talked to herself and wanted to hold wakes for dead spiders.”
“Accurate description,” added Jack.
Dana continued, “I mean, remember the delivery guy from college? If you’ll recall, Poppy and I had to have a long talk with you about opening the dorm door without a robe on after what you did to him. That poor, unsuspecting sap stood there with his mouth open, catching flies, and dropped our pizza—which was kind of okay because Poppy ordered pineapple on it. Gross.”
“That was some tip.” Jack lost it, laughing so hard he coughed and bumped the door, causing a knocking sound.
Dana glanced at the area the noise had come from. She then snorted. “Remember the time you dressed like an enchanted fairy for that Halloween party my office had a while back?”
A smile touched my lips as I thought back to the costume. “I do. I really loved the mesh wings and the bra made from green leaves that Nonna helped me make. Shame about the bra.”
Dana laughed. “You were so worried about the wings that you held on to them when that gust of wind happened, rather than the leaves of your barely there bra.”
Jack gasped. “Tell me you didn’t end up naked in front of everyone.”
I shrugged. “I loved the wings. The leaves were replaceable. The wings not so much.”
“You do realize you were the talk of every Halloween party thereafter, right?” asked Dana. “You just stood there, holding your wings as your boob leaves blew down the street. I didn’t know you were naked beneath it.”
Jack’s laughter totally covered whatever Dana said next. He bumped into the back of the door again and instead of going through, he caused more knocking sounds.
I thought back to the night in question. “Dracula came along for the win. His cape covered me perfectly and smelled very good. He was very nice on the eyes too.”
“Dracula!” exclaimed Dana, excitement in her voice. “I can’t believe I forgot about him. He was super sexy. I wonder who he came with that night, because he didn’t work with me.”
“Are you sure?” I adjusted in the tub more, getting comfy. “He talked like he knew you.”
“Babes, you don’t forget a guy like that,” said Dana. “Tall, dark, foreign accent. I wonder where he was from.”
“Romania,” I stated evenly, lifting a leg to stretch it.
Jack’s laughter faded and he bumped the wall this time, causing yet another thump. “W-what?”
“You know, the place where Dracula is from,” I stressed. “Stoker wrote all about it.”
“Uh, I’m more than familiar with the book, Marcy. With the surname of Van Helsing, escaping the novel wasn’t an option. The pipes in this place make the weirdest noises,” said Dana, explaining away the supernatural as she always did. She didn’t know that it was all real, but I did. Something deep within me said she’d have her eyes opened to it before long.
She continued to grumble about the pipes, so Jack repeated the action.
“Sometimes I knock on things just to see if she’ll follow the sound,” said Jack. “Mostly she just looks annoyed. Reminds me of someone else I know. Once, she gave the table I was knocking on the finger. Sweet bestie you got there, Marcy. She’s overflowing with charm and kindness. She comes by it honestly.”
I smiled at Dana, feeling a little bad for her since her world was limited to only what she could see and hear—what was tangible and in front of her. It had to get lonely being her, never seeing all that was truly there.
That was no way to go through life.
“About this Jack,” said Dana. “You said you were talking to him before, not me. Who is he—or rather, what is he? I suppose I should have asked that first. Let me guess, a fruit fly? Wait, a rat. Please God tell me he’s not a rat.”
I nearly laughed at Jack’s grunt of outrage.
“He’s not a rat,” I said.
“Swear it.” Dana looked toward the bathroom sink and the mirror above it. The reflection gave her a view behind the door. Relief moved over her face when she didn’t spot a rat. “Okay, since he’s not a rat, what is he?”
“A spirit,” I said.
Disbelief coated her face and she laughed. “Right. Okay. My place is totally haunted. Who knew? I hope he’s hot.”
“He is,” I replied.
“Does my ghost have a nice ass?” questioned Dana.
Jack made a dramatic show of glancing at his backside. “It is rather nice if I do say so myself.”
“It’s more than passable,” I said to her.
“I want to see it,” she demanded, clearly a disbeliever still.
Jack snorted.
I hid my laugh, my focus returning to Dana. “It will be a little hard for you to see his backside, Dana, since he’s dead and you don’t see spirits like I do.”
She offered a cocky grin. “How convenient. Nice-Ass can’t show himself to me.”
Jack chuckled. “I’m getting objectified. I like it. Tell her to keep going. My abs are out of this world. Talk about those. Oh, and I’m keeping the nickname.”
“Right then,” she said, clearly a nonbeliever. She opened the door a little more, staring harder at me. “What the hell is on your face? It kind of looks like something you’d see in a baby’s diaper.”
I touched my cheek and came away with orange goo on my finger. I licked it clean. “It’s a sweet potato mask. I made extra if you want to do one too. It’s in your refrigerator under the mound of Chinese food cartons you have in there. You order takeout a lot.”
“I don’t have time to cook,” she said, staring wide-eyed at my face. “Your sweet potato sludge is dripping into the tub.”
Jack leaned back and glanced around the door, his face close to Dana’s. He then turned his head in my direction but had his eyes closed tightly. “I don’t care what you say, she’s a peach, and I’ve stood against some interesting foes in my time. It’s because she’s a Van Helsing and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. They’re kind of known for their award-winning personalities. They tend to kill first, question later—or never. Trust me, I’ve known my fair share of them.”
I stifled a laugh and tried to focus on Dana, wondering how many Van Helsings Jack knew. I’d thought Dana was the only one.
She followed my gaze and put her head through Jack’s. “Do I want to know what you’re looking at?”
“Probably not,” I returned as Jack leapt back as if the devil himself had just made contact with him.
“Gah! I mind-melded with her.” As he stumbled, he passed through the wall right where my robe hung on a hook. He was back quickly, glancing in my direction before paling and spinning around. This time he purposely shoved his head through the wall. “I’m behaving myself. I swear.”