Haunter
“Are you under attack, Fran?”
I was able to mirror his smile. “I think we can say so, yeah.”
The waiter brought the bill and Harry handed him a black credit card.
“How much? I mean, you need me to hold you, kiss you, just rest a casual hand on the small of your back?”
“Grab me by the hand to leave.”
“That’s subtle.” Harry chuckled softly. “Breathe, Fran. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Or a Haunter. The Haunter Supreme, to be accurate. I was still seeing him. And he was still staring at me, like wishing oh so bad his eyes were knives.
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