She swings the bat over her shoulder, and I giggle and take it away from her. “Simmer down, Lila. I know you’re pissed at him, but we aren’t going anywhere while we’re stoned—”

My words are interrupted by a deep voice.

“Anastasia Bailey is high. My, my, my,” a man says, dragging out the words in a low tone. He makes a tsking noise. “I need evidence. Haven’t blackmailed anyone in a while.”

8

We freeze at the masculine voice and collectively turn to the doorway that leads to the den. Lila squeaks, Colette blinks—and my mouth drops open. A piece of lettuce tickles my lip and I swipe at it, then shake my head to clear it.

Doesn’t work.

A massive, tattooed hottie is in our kitchen.

He holds up his phone. “Say cheese. Or egg roll. Whatever works.” Finished, he tucks his cell back in his pocket and leans against the doorjamb. One maddening eyebrow goes up as he smirks at me. “Hey, you.”

“Hey?” is my reply.

Lila clutches my arm. “Is that River Tate or am I hallucinating?”

“Can we have the same hallucination?” Colette asks as she slaps her hand on the counter and picks up the cookie dough—all without taking her eyes off River.

“He’s not real,” I say with conviction, the idea simple. “I manifested him because he wished me happy birthday. He’s been on my mind—very irritating, if you must know. Somehow my brain is a movie projector and there he is. It’s science.”

“Makes sense,” Lila agrees. “He’s a hologram. So cool.”

I inch forward. “Ever noticed his eyes? What is up with that color? It’s not blue, not gray, but something in between. Like dove feathers touching the sky. They darken to molten silver when he’s emotional.”

“You noticed?” the vision asks.

“Like I wouldn’t,” I say.

“You’re quite poetic, Anastasia,” Fake River says.

“You noticed?”

“Like I wouldn’t,” he replies.

A tingle dances down my spine.

He smiles then bites his bottom lip and rakes a hand through his messy hair, and I swallow. It’s not often his visage is happy to see me, and Fake River is strangely happy as he looks at me.

I close my eyes. Disappear! I say in my head.

Still here.

“Lila, was there acid in that weed?” I ask warily.

“No. I get my stuff from Mason, the motocross guy. He’s topnotch—in bed and with the weed.”

“I know him,” Fake River murmurs. “Nice guy.”

Around her chews, Colette says, “You think you can project his pants off so I can see the snake?”

“Snake?” Fake River asks.

“It’s what we call your penis,” I admit with a shrug as I wave my hands at him. “Because of your tattoo.”

“You called me Snake today,” he says. “Were you actually talking to my dick?”

“No!” I huff. “It’s confusing, okay?”

Lila taps her chin. “Is he circumcised? I’ve never seen one that isn’t. Show us, please, Ana. Purely for the research of course.”

“No,” I say adamantly. “It’s sexualizing him, and demeaning. He’s a person.”

“Use your magic mind and take his shirt off at least,” Colette says. “I wanna see that six-pack.”

“I wanna see his snake!” Lila declares. She emits a hissing sound, sssssss.

I slap an egg roll in her hands. “Here. Eat this.”

She stares at it. “Not what I wanted. But. Okay.” She takes a bite.

I look back at the mirage in the doorway. “Go away. You’re messing with our mojo.”

“He’s still here,” Colette whispers. “Should we get the bat?”

“He’s not really here,” I insist. “Why would River Tate walk into our house uninvited?”

The hologram rolls his eyes. “Your door was cracked. I heard the giggling and came in when no one answered. It smells like reefer in here, by the way. Imagine my surprise when I catch you being naughty. Breaking the law. Always knew you had a wicked streak.”

“The law!” Lila grasps my arm. “Basement, Ana! You get the nachos. I’ll get Colette.”

“You’re being paranoid. Fight it. He’s not real!” I exclaim.

“Chill. I won’t tell the cops,” Fake River says on a chuckle. “I’m River Lucius Tate. Going to be a fifth-year senior next fall. Maybe. Who knows if I’ll come back? Even I don’t know. My dream is to play in the NFL, but nobody wants a loser, so I need a year to straighten my life out. Oh, and I’m in class with Anastasia. I ride the elevator with her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It’s an experience. She talks to herself, and I can’t read lips.”

“The mirage is trying to convince us by giving personal details, but it’s my subconscious creating him. Has to be.” I lean into the girls. “Donovan is weird about him.”

“You don’t say,” Lila says. “Because of his snake? It’s big and he’s jealous?”

I choke. “No.”

Fake River gives me a squint. “Why?”

I shrug. “He says you stare at me when no one else is looking. I find it highly unlikely.” I wave my hands in front of him. “Go away. Poof. Disappear.”

“Still here,” he says dryly.

I walk over to him and stop about a foot away. It’s close, too close for us in real life, but he’s not real, so it’s cool. I inhale a deep breath. “He smells like when you eat coconuts and mangoes. And sex, but not actual sex, like semen and woman, gross, but more like an alpha male. Is that weird? Don’t answer. It’s freaking strange. He must be using some kind of citrusy body wash with sex pheromones.”

“Took a shower before I came over.”

“His voice even sounds like his!” I touch his diamond-cut jawline, rubbing my fingers over the prickly dark shadow there. “His scruff tickles.”

“He can tickle between my legs,” Lila says as she chews.

“Hussy,” I say on a laugh. “But, mmm, yeah.”

“We can make that happen,” Vision River murmurs as he gazes at me.

“Don’t talk,” I tell him sternly. “Technically, you should only say things I want you to say.” My thumb ghosts over his pouty bottom lip. The skin is soft, the color a dusky pink. “Mind. Blown. I’ve created him just from memory. Maybe I did get some of the artist gene from my parents.”

Lila scrunches her nose. “But, don’t you think it’s weird that all three of us see him? I mean, I understand you seeing him, but how are you getting in our heads at the same time? Is it telepathy?”

“Pot makes us powerful.” My fingers go to his hair, tugging on the longer strands on top as I twirl them around. Like spun silk, the golden highlights sparkle under the kitchen lights.

I run my hands over his scalp and dig in, and he lets out a small groan, leaning into my touch. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow,” he murmurs.

“In the end, we only regret the things we didn’t do,” I tell him.