Although Devon was confined and I might be mentally deficient, I’m not blind. I do find him attractive but, after ten years of being B.F.F’s, he’s more like a brother. The thought of sleeping with him is, honestly, a little icky.
I was frustrated beyond belief with my organization project when the file clerk pushed her little cart into my office, dropping another load of folders on my desk. I huffed at her. She glared at me in return. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one annoyed by the IN box. It was time to knock off anyway, so I abandoned my organization hell and responded to a few emails I had neglected all week. With the work week drawing to an end, I set off to the building lobby to wait for Tore.
We live together across the city, in a large apartment that was procured on our behalf by the ‘Department of Economic Affairs and Debts’ or the D. E.A.D. office, as we lovingly call it. They handle all major finances for both Revenant and Reapers alike. Since we’re technically deceased, we can’t exactly apply for a line of credit to buy a home or car, we can’t get credit cards, or even gym memberships. But they take care of all that for us. The department procures aliases, complete with new IDs. In a weird way, the department is like the witness protection program.
Arriving home, I went directly into my room to change. Since I was going out that night and would have to change into my binding clubbing clothes later, I pulled on my favorite black, hooded sweatshirt and black, cotton yoga pants. When I’m home, I’m all about comfort. Baggy t-shirts, sweatshirts, elastic-waistband pants, and fluffy, comfortable socks reign supreme. I had an ex-boyfriend once refer to it as my “slob wear”. He was an asshole.
I plopped down on the sofa just to veg out for a while before Portia came to collect me. Flipping through the channels, I settled on a Friends marathon.
Tore sank down in the chair beside me. He too had changed into “slob wear”. He rubbed the sides of his face, letting out a dramatic yawn. “What a week.”
I yawned too. “Are you coming to the club tonight?”
“Nah, think I’m going to stay home and catch up on some sleep.”
“Noooo... C’mon, you have to go,” I begged. ”I’ll pay you.”
Pursing his lips, he closed his eyes and shook his head. With the second line of goober defense bailing on me, it was going to be a long night with no one to run interference. It already looked less like the fun club experience Portia wanted us to have... and more like the nightmare I was expecting.
Tore and I watched another few episodes of our favorite sitcom before I had to get ready. Rummaging through my closet, I finally chose a sleeveless, emerald-green dress with a black, sheer overlay and black leggings. I deemed my outfit sexy-yet-comfortable. Since I’ve never been a heels kinda girl, I pulled on my patent-leather Doc Martin boots.
I wasn’t in the mood to be fussy about my long, dark brown hair, so I went basic with just a headband and a few cute barrettes decorated with spiders and bats. I brushed a little powder on my naturally pale skin. For eye makeup, I went smokey with heavy black liner. My lips painted a lovely shade of crimson completed my look for the evening.
I gave myself one last, quick look-over in the mirror before shrugging my shoulders. I looked a bit like Morticia Adams, but that was all right. I don’t intentionally set out to be a cliché Goth chick; it’s just my natural coloring, so why not embrace it?
By the time I was done primping and preening, Tore was crashed out on the sofa and softly snoring away. The doorbell rang promptly at nine o’clock. Portia was decked out in her club attire of a red corset, black pencil skirt, and black stiletto heels. Her hair was swept up in an up-do with a few loose strands curled into relaxed ringlets. I usually looked like the growth-challenged friend standing next to her on a regular day but, when we go clubbing, I feel like Alice after drinking the shrinking potion. If she wasn’t my friend, I think I might hate her at times.
“Hey,” she greeted.
Pointing to Tore asleep on the sofa, I put my finger to my lips.
“Awww... Look how cute he is, all cuddled up taking a nappy-poo.” She giggled.
I scribbled a quick note, letting Tore know which club we’d be at in case he changed his mind. I also gave an approximate time I might be home, so he didn’t worry. Tossing the note on the coffee table, Portia and I scurried quietly out the door.
Let the parade of egotistical, self-indulgent, self-important, lame-asses commence.
Chapter 2
When we arrived at the club, we found a couple of stools at the end of the bar and plopped ourselves down. Within an hour, my worst fears for the night were confirmed, the club was wall to wall goobers. There were goobers wanting to buy us drinks, using really bad pickup lines, and genuinely making the night suck. If ever there had been a night when we needed our goober patrol...
Portia attempted, in vain, to ignore the Goober King. He had been yacking her ear off for a half hour. She continued to roll her eyes and give monosyllabic replies, yet somehow, he failed to notice her lack of interest. She’d try to turn away and he’d just follow her right around. Normally, she’s not cold to men wanting to buy her another martini but this jerk had been making the rounds all night and it was her turn to receive his attention. Believe me, that shit did not go unnoticed.
She looked at me with desperation in her eyes and mouthed the words, Help me. I reached slowly into my purse to find my phone and, without lifting it out, dialed her number. Within seconds, her phone started to chirp. She looked down at the display with feigned concern, apologized, and explained that she needed to take the call, before wandering away.
Dum Da Da Dum! Super friend to the rescue! Unfortunately, thanks to my heroics, I was left alone with Goober King. He raised his glass, offering to buy me another. I raised my still full glass, shook my head, and turned away. He lost interest waiting for Portia to return and moved onto another unsuspecting victim within a few minutes.
“Finally. Jesus!” she groaned, sliding back onto the stool next to me. I wiped the condensation from my glass and swirled the ice around in the last of my drink. I checked my watch. It was just before midnight. My general clubbing rule is, if there are no prospects by midnight, call it done. Tapping the face of my watch in Portia’s direction, I reminded her of this rule.
“One more drink and then we’ll go, all right?”
“Fine.” I held my empty glass up in the bartender’s direction. With beverages refreshed, Portia spun around on her stool and resumed surveying the room.
“Hmm... finally,” she said, turning back to me. “Okay, there’s a serious hottie looking my direction and he has a friend.”
“What’s the friend like?”
“He’s not bad, but not really my type. Okay, they’re both looking away. Steal a glance over your shoulder to four o’clock.”
Attempting to be subtle, I slowly turned my head. The two men were standing on the very edge of the dance floor. The first guy was good looking; he was really tall, maybe six foot two, average build, sporting spikey brown hair with blonde highlights. He was wearing a sport coat, layered over an unbuttoned plaid shirt, a Life magazine graphic t-shirt, and skinny jeans. He bobbed his head to the music while nursing a beer. He looked like your basic out of the box hipster and I have to admit, I rolled my eyes a bit. Okay, that's a lie—I rolled my eyes a lot.
I assumed ‘Hipster’ was the friend, because the man standing next to him was nothing short of an Adonis. He was tall and toned, with tussled brown hair that fell just above his shoulders. The black t-shirt he wore appeared painted on his defined chest. The cuffs of his dark jeans fell perfectly over the tops of his shoes, further elongating his lean legs.
He took a swig off a bottle of microbrew and, I swear, never in my life have I been so jealous of a bottle. Just as he was about to take another swig, our eyes met. His eyes were mesmerizing. Completely captivated but embarrassed that I had been caught checking him out, I quickly turned away. My heart hammered in my chest.
“Well?” Portia asked. U
nable to conjure any words from my slack jaw, I simply nodded. She stole another glance over her shoulder. “They’re coming over this way.”
Trying to regain some level of composure, I snapped my jaw shut. Steady breathing. In... and out... Don’t turn into a geek and drool all over yourself like Jabba the Hutt... Oh god, who was I kidding? Within seconds, I was sure to make an ass of myself, simultaneously exposing myself for the nerd I was. I guess the upside was that the Adonis would be too busy fawning over Portia to care, and I wasn’t all that concerned what Hipster might think of me.
“Hello ladies,” Hipster said in a British accent.
“Hi,” we replied in unison.
“Mind if we buy you a few rounds?”
“Not at all,” Portia said, quickly downing her full martini and setting the empty glass back on the bar. I turned my head away, trying not to laugh. She warned me with a subtle raise of her brow.
Hipster motioned to the bartender, who took our drink order. I spun around on my stool to engage in conversation. I tried my hardest not to stare at the Adonis, but failed miserably. He was quiet as he sipped his beer, but otherwise engaged enough to let Hipster ask the typical, lame-ass, bar pick-up questions.
So you from around here?
You come here often?
Did it hurt? (when you fell from heaven)
I was relieved when the bartender returned with our drinks, simply so I had an excuse to turn away without seeming rude. Someone slid up on the bar stool next to me. I took a deep breath, readying myself to entertain Hipster, until Portia was ready to leave. Yet, when I turned my head, the Adonis was the one smiling back at me.
I whipped my head over my shoulder to see Portia working her magic on Hipster, as she giggled and laid a hand on his shoulder. What in the hell just happened? Had I entered the Twilight Zone? Hipster was the “hottie”, while the impossibly beautiful man to my left wasn’t her type?
“Is everything alright?” the Adonis asked. He had a British accent as well, except his was sexier, I don’t know why, it just was. Maybe, it was because it was coming from such a gorgeous mouth.
“Hmm... What?”
“I asked if you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah... Sorry. Yeah, everything is fine.” Better than fine, everything was fan-fucking-tastic, other than my complete confusion at the reversal of the situation and the new, rising fear that I would turn into a dingbat.
A cocky expression graced his face as he set his beer down, “So tell me, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a wretched hive of scum and villainy, such as this?”
I burst into laughter. “Did you just really use a pick-up line from Star Wars on me?”
“I did. Impressed?”
“I’ll give you points for originality, but that was pretty geeky.” Which still impressed me, but I didn’t want to whip out my “geek card” just yet.
“Hey, takes one to know one.” He laughed, playfully nudging me with his shoulder.
He was ravishingly handsome, funny, and geeky to boot. There was no way I was going to be that lucky. The universe is never that kind, which meant one of two things: either I was drunker than I thought, or there was something seriously wrong with him. I tapped my fingers on the bar as I tallied how many drinks I’d had. Hmmm... only three in the past three hours. Nope, not drunk, which meant he had some major flaw and I was already on the hunt to seek it out.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“Data entry.” I intentionally left it vague, can’t broadcast to every cute “living” guy that there’s some form of afterlife. That’s a no-no where the big wigs were concerned. “How about yourself?”
“I’m an independent contractor.” He chuckled, as if there was some sort of inside joke. Too bad for him, I’m clever.
Independent contractor, if I’m not mistaken, is a fancy way of saying unemployed. Unemployed plus the geek thing probably meant he lived in his mother’s basement and played World of Warcraft. Ha! I figured out the flaw, and in record time... but now what? Was I going to let that completely ruin the night? My answer was no. I just needed to establish some rules for myself. I could have a few drinks and some conversation with him, there would be no harm in that. However, I couldn’t sleep with him, and I’d have to try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my tummy every time he smiled at me.
Well, maybe I could sleep with him just the one time... NO, no. Sleeping with him has to be off the table. Otherwise, his mom will be the one making me breakfast tomorrow morning. Yeah, that was the reason I needed to see things clearly.
Without the possibility of a roll in the hay looming, I was able to relax, just be myself, and the rest of the night went perfectly. He was amazingly easy to talk to as we chatted about the basic get to know ya stuff. I obviously avoided anything too personal and he did the same but it really didn’t matter what we were talking about so long as he kept talking to me. If I hadn’t been so distracted by the magnificence of his gray eyes and his accent, I might have noticed the little red flag waving above his head.
The rest of the club completely faded into the background. All that existed was the two of us in a perfect little bubble. So, it came as a surprise when the bartender announced last call and I looked at my watch to see that four hours had passed by. The huge bouncers began ushering people out as the house lights came up.
Catching Portia’s eye, I gestured towards the door. She nodded, giving me a little wink, and twirled a stand of hair around her finger. That was our super-secret silent girl code for I’m taking this guy home to have my way with him. I was waging a war about doing the same thing, only now I was trying to justify it with the argument it would just be sex. For the time being, the side of me wanting to rip his clothes off took the backseat, allowing my logical side to be charge. But no hanky-panky meant the night was coming to an end. It was probably just as well because I was hit by a raging headache as I stood up.
We filed out of the club and into the unseasonably warm night. I took a deep breath of fresh air, stretching my arms out to soak it in. It was then I realized that my hands were empty. “Damn, I left my purse inside.”
“Go get it, we’ll wait for ya,” Portia said.
“Nah, it’s fine. You go ahead. I’ll catch up,” I called, trotting back down the sidewalk.
The bouncer at the door was a ginormous man, with skin the color of mocha and biceps the size of my waist. He had the pythons crossed over his chest, watching and waiting for any sign of shenanigans. He looked like a no-nonsense kind of guy and was intimidating as hell. The kind of guy who made me wonder if he ever laughed or even smiled. I fought against the tide of people flowing out of the club and, by the time I reached him, I plastered on my sweetest smile.
“Excuse me; I left my purse in the club. Can I just go back in and grab it?”
He didn’t even bother to look at me, “Can’t let you back in. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Please, my phone and my wallet are in it.”
“Sorry, club policy. No one allowed back in after closing.”
“I know exactly where I left it...”
“I said you’ll have to come back tomorrow.” His big, bald head turned and he peered down at me. Suddenly, I felt very small.
I put my hands up in surrender and shrank back into the crowd. I dodged and weaved around the drunken club goers to put as much space between Baldy and me as possible. Much to my surprise, the Adonis was waiting only a few feet away. Portia and Hipster were nowhere to be seen, but he had waited for me. That sent those silly little butterflies all aflutter again.
“Did you get it?” he asked as I approached.
“No, Captain Roid Rage over there won’t let me back in. Club policy,” I mocked with air quotes.
He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Bullocks. C’mon.”
He marched back down the sidewalk, dragging me towards the big, scary bouncer. My headache was getting worse and I really wasn’t up for a confrontation. If I cou
ldn’t get back in looking cute and innocent, I wasn’t sure what the Adonis thought he was going to accomplish. Most of the crowd had dispersed. The bouncer was ushering out the last few people when we marched right up to him. I tried to pull away, but the Adonis kept a firm grip on my hand.
“Hey bub, my friend left her purse inside and I was wondering if we might be allowed back in, to retrieve it.”
This was not a good idea. The look on Baldy’s face said it all—we were seriously pushing our luck. “Look pal, I already told the lady no. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow.”
The Adonis let go of my hand. “Give me just a minute, all right?”
I nodded, watching as he put his arm around the bouncer’s shoulder and leaned in close. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but within a few moments, Adonis waved me over.
A smile spread across Baldy’s face as he stepped out of the doorway, allowing me to pass. I was stunned. Giving the Adonis an inquisitive look, I ran into the club. My purse was exactly where I left it. I did a quick inventory check before rushing back out the door. As I came back out into the night, the bouncer and the Adonis were making small talk. I gave a quick thanks to Baldy, to which he nodded again with a smile. Honestly, it was a little disconcerting. He was less intimidating without flashing a toothy grin.
The Adonis and I walked a few feet before my curiosity got the better of me. “What did you say to get him to let me back in?”
“I just asked him nicely.” He smiled.
I had asked Baldy nicely and he came just short of tossing me out on my ass. I took another look in the bouncer’s direction, thinking about his weird smile as he let me pass. Looking at the Adonis, I realized why my charms hadn’t worked. Baldy didn’t swing my way. I was about to vocalize this thought when a beep from my phone interrupted me. As I rummaged through my purse, the Adonis’ phone started chirping too.
Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Page 2