Cold Summer Nights by Sean Thomas Fisher, Esmeralda Morin Read Free Book Online Page A

everything she had put him through, he had no idea how good that was going to feel.
    Rusty casually leaned into Nick’s ear. “I should've stuck with Dallas.”
     
    Nick got home at quarter to one and the first thing he did was check the remote. It worked just fine so he shut the TV off and went into his bedroom. Despite his triumphant turn with Amy, his buzzed thoughts kept returning to his grandma’s eerie warning. Unanswered questions made his head spin. Stay away from whom? Amy? And what the hell did his mother have to do with anything? Had his grandma even spoke to begin with? After all, that would be impossible. She hadn’t uttered a single word in nearly four years. For all he knew, it could’ve just been that old coot babbling incoherent thoughts out in the hallway about his secret identity. But deep down, Nick knew it wasn’t. Either way, the crackly voice replaying in his head gave him the chills as he belly-flopped into bed with his shoes on.
    He rolled over onto his back, feeling guilty about kissing Amy, and kicked his shoes off. They thumped onto the floor, one after the other, as he pulled his phone from his front pocket and checked for any texts or missed calls. He dropped his head back into the pillow and wondered if he should call Summer right now and just come clean about the whole thing. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t even mind coming over tonight after finding out how firmly he had dealt with his ex.
    Before he knew what was happening, his phone was connecting to hers. He took a deep breath and held it, almost hanging up. But it was too late; he had already left caller ID tracks all over the place. He scrambled to collect his half-drunken thoughts, each ring of her phone making them grow more distorted. He cleared his throat, wondering what he was doing. Her voicemail answered and he hung up before he could dig himself in any deeper. He wasn’t that drunk. Still, he’d have to be ready to explain why he had called so late on a Sunday night. She was probably staring at her caller ID right now with sleepy eyes, shaking her nappy head and wondering what she had gotten herself into.
     
    Amy stumbled into her apartment and shut the heavy wooden door with an inconsiderate slam. The deadbolt clicked home and she crossed the living room, bathed in parking lot lights slipping in through the sliding glass door that led to a small balcony outside. Her keys jingled into a fancy dish from Pottery Barn resting on top of a slim sofa table with straight edges.
    “He’ll call,” she muttered, unzipping her leather coat and tossing it onto the couch without looking, nearly taking out a lamp. She kicked off her high-heels, going from five feet eight inches to five foot four, and dropped her short black skirt to the carpeting below. Her bare feet stepped out of it and tromped into the kitchen where she whipped back the refrigerator door and grabbed a cold bottle of Miller Lite .
    She popped the top and grinned. “How could he not?” she smiled brazenly, admiring her tan, toned legs in the soft refrigerator light. She took a long drink and sighed with satisfaction. She smacked her lips, shut the fridge door and screamed when she saw a dark figure standing on the other side. It stared holes in her with its cavernous eyes.
    Amy’s breath caught in her throat, paralyzing her entire body. The beer bottle slipped through her fingers, shattering on the parquet flooring around her red painted toes. The shadowy female’s long hair was as lifeless as the face staring back at Amy. It stood there, quietly observing the pretty blond. Horror ransacked Amy’s mind, mixing with the alcohol already coursing through her veins. The combination made it impossible commanding her body to any kind of action other than clumsily backpedalling. The smell of rot and decay wrapped its mushy limbs around her. Without moving a muscle, the silhouette leaned forward and slowly began coming closer. It moved with the greatest of ease, like it