You locked the door behind, placing your keys on the table. The air still carried the faint smell of your “friend’s” cologne, or maybe it was yours by now…

Ghost, your father, didn’t say a word at first. Just looked at you from where he stood in the kitchen, his gaze dropping to your neck, just below your jaw.

“You have fun?” he asked with an uncommon teasing tone.

You catched the tone and blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head. ”Only askin’ ‘cause you came home with a bloody souvenir.”

You reached up instinctively, fingertips brushing over the faint warmth of your skin. Too late.

“Friend, was it?” he added, walking past you. “Might wanna come up with a better story.”