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it.”
    Wyatt nodded, but said under his breath, “I liked the other one better.”
    Ash gave a derogatory snort. “I bet you did.”
    Wyatt squatted there for another moment, trying to think of anything to say that could convey his regret. No words came, though, and he admitted to himself that Ash was done with the conversation and he should be as well.
    He stood with a sigh. “I am sorry.”
    Ash pursed his lips and nodded without looking up.
    â€œTake care, huh?” Wyatt said as he trudged to the door. It sounded so weak that he instantly regretted saying it.
    â€œHey, Wyatt,” Ash said as soon as Wyatt reached for the doorknob. Wyatt turned around. Ash was still sitting with his back to the door. “You know what I always do in the morning with someone who’s slept over?”
    Wyatt’s stomach flip-flopped. “What?”
    â€œI fuck them again.”
    Wyatt closed his eyes as a jolt of lust shot through him. He reached for the knob and lowered his head. “Wish I’d stuck around to see that.”
    â€œYeah,” Ash said. “So do I.”
    Wyatt exited the bar before he could subject himself to any more abuse, no matter how much he deserved it. He stood outside and peered up into the crisp blue sky for a long time, trying to reconcile that he’d probably screwed up what could have been a good thing. When he looked down again, his eyes landed on the chalk sign that was chained to the front of the building. He frowned. The specials had been erased, but the bottom still advertised the ghost tours.
    Wyatt’s body lurched as an idea hit him like a truckload of Acme anvils. He turned back to the door in time to see Ash stand and viciously kick the A/C unit. He banged on the glass. “Hey!”
    Ash jumped and turned around. He frowned when he saw Wyatt standing there, then he tossed the screwdriver aside and stalked over to the door.
    â€œWhat the hell, man?” he said through the glass.
    â€œThose ghost tours, do they start from here every night?” Wyatt asked as he pointed at the sign.
    â€œWhat?” Ash frowned.
    â€œThe ghost tours!”
    â€œYeah. Monday through Saturday. They start around eight this time of year. When it’s good and dark.”
    â€œAre they popular?”
    â€œYeah. They bring in about twenty percent of our business.” Ash crossed his arms over his chest, obviously confused by Wyatt’s sudden change of interest. “Why?”
    â€œWhat sort of things do they show you?”
    â€œI don’t know, man, ghost stories and shit. I’ve never been on one. Are you done?”
    â€œNo! I need to know what sort of stories they tell!”
    Ash flopped his hands in exasperation. “Why?”
    â€œThe October exhibition!” Wyatt shouted back, pointing in the direction of the museum. “Ghost stories! A history of ghost stories! That could save my job!”
    Ash stared at him, then shook his head and shrugged. “The state is full of ghosts and myths and legends, man. You could make an exhibit about them, but you’d be pandering if you went that route without some serious research and truth behind it.”
    â€œHell, pandering’s what they want me to do. My life is research!”
    â€œThen take a couple ghost tours. Present the stories as they’re believed to be and then tell the truth behind them. Make it worthy, at least.”
    Wyatt rapped his knuckles on the glass. “Thank you,” he whispered before turning and jogging away.

    Ash stood at the door, frowning as he watched Wyatt jog down the sidewalk toward the museum.
    â€œWhy is it always the wackadoos who’re so good in bed?” he said sadly.
    A loud bang from upstairs seemed to answer him, and he jumped and turned, looking up at the ceiling as his heart rate skyrocketed.
    He stayed silent and still, holding his breath. But all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his ears.