Won't Let Go Read Online Free PDF Page B

Not that you can compare Bryce with a ghost hottie. “For last night. I—I didn’t mean to—and for today—” He steps closer, now inches away. I shiver as cool air brushes against my skin. He frowns and takes a step back. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”
    I wave him off. “It’s fine. Really. No big deal. I’m totally over it. It was only a tornado that scared the crap out of me.” 
    He nods. “Right. Um. Sorry. It’s just that...well...I—”
    For a second I feel bad. Clearly he’s overcome with emotion and feels bad about what he did, even if I don’t understand why he did it. “Just please, please don’t do it again.”
    With a slight flick of his head, he says, “I won’t.”
    Feeling a little more comfortable, or at least enough that I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kill me, I take the few long strides necessary to make it to my bed. I flop down against the plush spotted duvet. Ghostboy stands, in the middle of the room, only his body turns to face me head on.
    Ghostboy... “So what’s your name anyway? What happened to you?”
    He raises his hand up, raking his fingers through his blond hair. “I don’t know.”
    I bring my feet up onto the bed, crossing my legs in front of me. Criss-cross apple sauce. My fingers begin to pick at a paid-for-hole in my jeans. “You don’t know what? You don’t know who you are? How is that possible?”
    From here, the sun streaming in through the window outlines him in gold, almost giving him an ethereal glow. My eyes sweep over him, and I wonder, is this the last thing he wore before he died? A simple, plain gray T-shirt, jeans and—looking at his feet, I’m slightly taken aback—black Converse All Stars.
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Anything?”
    He shakes his head.
    “Then what am I supposed to call you? I mean you do live in my room, don’t you?”
    He shakes his head again. I’m getting the feeling this ghost is a man of few words.
    “Then where do you go when you’re not here?”
    His shoulders lift and fall. “I don’t know.”
    I sigh, blowing a few fallen strands of hair out of my face. “But you said, you said they were coming back . Who’s they ?”
    “I don’t know. Someone I used to know, I think.” He shifts his weight from one sneaker to the other.
    I sigh again, frustrated. “You tore up my room, scared the living daylights out of me and you don’t even know who they are?” I mutter a few obscenities to myself. I think I feel a bout of heartburn coming on.
    A shaky hand rakes through his blond hair, again, sliding down to grip the back of his neck. “It was just...instinct? I—I don’t know. At the time it...seemed like the—I just felt I had to—”
    “Keep me from moving in?”
    He nods sheepishly.
    Right. Of course, that totally makes sense. Not.
    “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’re dead. You don’t know how you died, you don’t know your name and you don’t know why you’re haunting this house. Seriously, could you throw me a bone here? I can’t help you if you don’t know anything.”
    His head falls, eyes looking at his feet as he again shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry?”
    The expensive hole in my jeans gets bigger as I pull at the frayed threads. The pink skin of my knee pokes through. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s your fault exactly.”
    I’m telling a ghost it’s not his fault he’s dead. How do I know it’s not? For all I know, he could have been dumb and dove off a cliff without asking himself how deep the water was. Or he could have driven home from a party, drunk, and smashed into a tree.
    Letting out another exasperated sigh, I say, “Okay, well, what do I call you? I mean you need a name if you’re going to be hanging around, at least until we figure out who you are.”
    His stormy eyes meet mine. “Why don’t you choose?”
    “Okay...” I never had any pets growing up. One time, I tried to name a mouse Mom and Dad swore lived in the garage. But