Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  He tossed down the remote and grabbed his phone to check his email.

  Not that he really expected anything, but boredom made him eager for even a penis enlargement advertisement. Not that he needed one. He stared at the small screen . . . not one new email since he’d checked ten minutes ago.

  Leaning back he saw his sister’s laptop on the coffee table. And then he did it. He grabbed the damn thing, went to Wikipedia, and searched for Chloe Sanders.

  It told him a lot. An only child. Her father was deceased. Her mother lived in town and used to own a bookstore.

  There was only one image of Chloe. Just a headshot, the same one in the back of her books. Not satisfied, he found her website. There were a couple of shots of her signing books. She looked happy in them, too. As if . . . as if she was totally in her element.

  He read her blog about going to a butterfly farm, but it was dated more than a year ago. Still wanting more, he Googled her. He found a few pictures of her on vacation in Florida. In one of them, she was wearing a bikini. And she looked good. One of those curvy hourglass bodies with a tiny waist that a man loves to hold on to. The only thing he didn’t like was the guy hanging on to her. Was that the fiancé who’d killed himself? He studied it harder and remembered the guy in the vision he’d had of Chloe’s proposal. Yup, it was him.

  “Why would you do that to her?” he asked the picture.

  Then he did another Google search and found an interview. In it, she stated that she’d graduated from the University of Houston with a business and English degree. And the date she gave meant they went there at the same time. He recalled her telling him that he looked familiar. Was there a small chance that she’d recognized him from college and not from Room Six?

  He hit another link and found her telephone number. Unable to stop himself, he grabbed his phone and saved it in his contact list.

  Suddenly, feeling like an Internet stalker, he set the computer back on the coffee table. He stood up, ran his hand through his hair, and spit out a few choice bad words. Then realizing a place he could really get to know Chloe Sanders, and pushing aside feeling like a stalker, he limped down his sister’s hall. He bypassed the extra bedroom where he’d slept last night—who would have guessed he’d miss his hospital bed?—and ignoring the sign on the door that read, ‘No Adults Allowed,’ he went inside Bella’s room.

  He’d pay his niece off with a whole damn bag of tooth-decaying bubblegum for breaking the rules.

  Standing in the midst of everything pink, he wanted to pretend he didn’t know what he was looking for, but he knew.

  He found the bookshelf and ran his finger over the names of the authors. Chloe Sanders wasn’t there. Had his sister been lying about Chloe being Bella’s favorite author?

  Looking around the room, now even more antsy due to feeling as if he was snooping, he saw the neat stack of books on the kid’s bedside table that were tied in ribbon that matched her bedspread. Okay, so his sister hadn’t been lying.

  Dropping down on his niece’s bed, he studied the ribbon, wondering if he untied it, could he put it back exactly as it was? The pretty little bow stared back at him and he accepted his big hands would never be able to fix it.

  He told himself to just leave and not touch the damn books. Why did he want to read them anyway? He stood, got almost to the door, when he heard Judge Judy say, “What are you, blind or just stupid? Grow a pair and do what you need to do.” But damn it if Judge Judy didn’t sound a lot like Beatrice Bacon.

  He swung back around and untied the ribbon.

  Taking up residence on Bella’s princess bed, which happened to be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the bed in the extra bedroom, he propped up his feet, found book one and started reading.

  Pooch barked until Cary reached down and brought him up on the bed. The dog curled up between his shoulder and his neck as Cary got lost in the story. It was definitely a kid’s book. Amazingly, he found himself caring about the main character, turning the pages, and laughing. He was in awe. In awe of the talent of one beautiful brunette author who slept in angel nightshirts and could hit a man right where he hurt—twice—in a matter of a few minutes.

  And one who still looked so damn angelic, that the man would forgive her.

  When he finished book one, he grabbed book two. Pooch growled, not liking that he’d shifted. He growled again when Cary reached for book three. There were five in the series, and he was pissed when he finished the last one. He let the book drop onto his chest, listened to Pooch snore, and stared up at the glittery stars on his niece’s ceiling.

  His sister had gone all out to give her daughter a real sanctuary of a room. Oddly, he recalled his mom had done the same for all of them. His room had been done in army green and she’d even painted army men on the walls.

  Cutting his gaze down to his chest and the book, he couldn’t help but wonder if Chloe had really not written since her asshole of a fiancé offed himself. That was a blasted shame. She had too damn much talent to waste.

  He closed his eyes and remembered being next to her in her bed. His mind recreated the kiss and how she’d looked in that white nightshirt. But that hadn’t even been his favorite thing about their time together. It was them . . . just talking, sharing. He hadn’t had that—just being himself with a woman—since . . . since his ex-wife taught him not to trust.

  A lesson, for some reason, he felt he needed to cling to right now.

  • • •

  The noon sun spilled into his grandmother’s empty house, making the stale, humid air feel even hotter. J.D. heard a car and hurried to the kitchen window to make sure it was who he thought it was. Spotting Carlos’ old Saturn pull up behind his truck, he opened the door.

  The first thing J.D. did was look to see if his friend was alone. Then again, someone could be ducking down in the backseat. His pulse raced.

  He trusted Carlos, he told himself, or at least he thought he did, but he knew how persuasive Jax could be. Look what J.D. had done to try to impress him.

  As the car came to a stop, J.D.’s gut said he shouldn’t have told Carlos where he was, but he needed some company. Needed someone to talk to. Someone besides the water stain on the ceiling and the ghost of a grandmother.

  • • •

  Chloe walked out of the dressing room with the two dresses she’d just tried on in her hand. “I think this one,” she said, and held up the pink sundress.

  “No, the red one,” Sheri said, pulling the hanger with the pink dress out of Chloe’s hands and replacing it with the red dress. After accepting a date with Dan, she’d realized she had nothing to wear. So she’d begged her best friend to take off at lunch and go hit a few stores to get her ‘date-ready.’

  “I don’t know,” Chloe said and held it up to her. “It’s red. And red says you’re gonna get to screw me.”

  “No, it says, ‘Buy me.’” Sheri started leading her out of the dress department. “It’s not a screw me dress. Screw me dresses, have a slit up to here,” she ran her finger up her thigh. “And neck lines down to here. This doesn’t even show cleavage,” Sheri said.

  “Because my cleavage is still a little purple.” She reached for the pink dress, but Sheri held it back.

  “Then buy both of them,” Sheri offered. “Red at least says—”

  “No,” Chloe leaned in, “I’m not buying a dress that says ‘You’re gonna take this off of me tonight.’”

  “It doesn’t say that.” Sheri laughed. “That’s what the red underwear you’re going to buy says. This dress just says, ‘If you behave, you might get a peek at what’s beneath.’”

  “I’m not getting naked with him. And I’m not buying new underwear.” Chloe stopped and pressed a palm to her forehead. “Why did I agree to do this? I don’t want to do this.”

  “Yes, you do.” Sheri nudged her forward.

  “Seriously, I don’t think I’m ready,” Chloe said.

  “Yes, you are.” Sheri stopped in front of a selection of colore
d underwear. “Look at me,” her friend said. “Jerry killed himself, and that had to hurt like hell, and then you practically died. But you didn’t die. You’re still here and you need this.”

  “Need what?” Chloe asked.

  Sheri took her by the shoulders. “You need a night of nothing but hot, uncommitted, lustrous sex to make you realize you are still alive.” She gave her a little shake. “Now, what size bra do you wear?”

  Chloe closed her eyes and muttered, “Thirty-four C.” Then she opened her eyes. “Fine. I’ll go on the date. I’ll wear the dress and the underwear, but I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Fine,” Sheri said, as if proud of herself. “But . . . never say never. Sometimes, when you meet someone, it can just feel right.”

  “True.” Chloe remembered her dream with Cary Stevens. “But my gut says Dan isn’t that someone. I’m not climbing in bed with someone just to prove that I’m not dead.”

  Sheri looked at her as if trying to read her mind. “You’re still hung up over Johnny Depp and that whole dream thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not hung up.”

  “Yes, you are.” She crossed her arms and grinned. “Okay, look at it like this. If you go out with Danny and don’t fall in love or lust with him, maybe Mr. Depp will get the message that you’re not waiting around on him, and he might even step up to the plate.”

  Chloe shook her head and stared dumbfounded at her best friend. “Let me get this straight. You’ve given me two options: go out and screw this guy silly—just so I can get back on the horse so to speak—or use him to make his partner jealous.”

  “You got it. You do one, or the other. Whichever one floats your boat. Or you could do both.” She wiggled her brows.

  “I can honestly say that every article I’ve ever read about dating says both pieces of your advice are big mistakes.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t believe everything you read. Be brave. Take the bull by the horns.” She paused and smiled. “Or . . . here’s option number three: Get all fancied up, forget Danny, and go see Mr. Depp and tell him you’re wearing red underwear just for him.”

  Chloe made a face. “Option three: just go throw myself at him?”

  “Pretty much.” Sheri grinned. “And don’t cut that idea. I’ve done that one personally.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “All this advice coming from a girl whose fiancé has canceled their wedding twice and she’s not concerned . . . or is too scared to find out what’s really going on.”

  Sheri frowned. “I never said I didn’t have problems. But we’re working on you first. Let’s get you laid and then you can kick my ass later.”

  “I’m not getting laid.” When Sheri started to argue, Chloe continued, “But . . . you buy some red underwear, too. Maybe that’s all you and Kevin need . . . to spice things up. What size bra do you wear?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “What size?” Chloe asked in her don’t-argue-with-me voice.

  Sheri snagged a thirty-four B cup and then looked at Chloe. “Okay . . . I’ll buy some screw-me underwear. But if he doesn’t screw me, the shit is gonna hit the fan.” They went to pay, and as they walked back to Chloe’s car, Sheri asked, “Which option are you going with?”

  “I don’t have a freaking clue,” Chloe answered.

  “If I get a vote, I say the third one. Get all dressed up, and show up at his house, Chloe. Just do it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  J.D. stayed on guard, standing at the back door, studying the guy’s backseat and expecting Jax to pop up and shoot him. What surprised J.D. the most was he wasn’t running away. Almost as if he didn’t care if he died.

  But when Carlos got out, he had a fast food bag in one hand, and a six pack in the other. J.D. felt ashamed for suspecting his friend of turning on him.

  “Hey,” Carlos said walking up.

  “Hey,” J.D. said. “Thanks for this. What do I owe you?” He walked into the kitchen and Carlos followed.

  “It was twenty with lunch and beer,” he said and looked around. “Where’s all your grandmother’s stuff?”

  He and Carlos had known each other since junior high—since J.D. moved in with his grandmother after running away from home the first time. Carlos used to come over quite a bit. “They got rid of it.”

  “Are they letting you hang here, or did you just break in?”

  “No one is letting me. But I didn’t break in. My grandmother kept a key hidden under a rock.”

  “Cool,” Carlos said and pulled out a beer and lifted the top. “Well, not so cool, actually. Jax is looking for you. He said he called you and you haven’t called him back. He’s getting pissed, man. You should call him.”

  J.D. grabbed his own beer. “He wants me to kill that woman.”

  “What woman?” Carlos asked and took a hearty sip of beer.

  “The one I hit. He’s afraid if I get caught on that, it will lead them to all the other stuff.”

  Carlos frowned. “You gonna do it?”

  He started to say hell no, but instead replied, “I’m hoping it will blow over. And when he sees they aren’t gonna catch me, then . . . then he’ll drop it.”

  “Jax doesn’t drop much,” Carlos said, sounding worried.

  “I know,” he said and took another sip of his beer.

  • • •

  “Why are you in my bed?”

  The voice jarred Cary awake. His eyes shot open and he saw his niece’s face right in his. “Sorry. I got bored and needed something to read. And I . . . I fell asleep.” Something wet filled his ear. Realizing it was Pooch’s tongue, he nudged the dog aside.

  “She’s the best writer ever, isn’t she?” Bella’s big smile filled his vision and he realized she was looking at the book on his chest.

  “Yeah. She is.” The dog came back and he could swear her tongue went all the way down to his ear drum. “Stop,” he growled at the dog.

  “And she’s beautiful, too.” Those words hadn’t come from Bella’s lips. He leaned his head up and saw Kelly standing in her daughter’s doorway. “And I think she’s available. Or, at least that’s what Wikipedia said about her.”

  He closed the book on his chest and sat up, trying not to see the spark of matchmaker in his sister’s eye. Focusing back on Bella, he said, “Thanks for loaning them to me.”

  “I didn’t loan them to you.” She started collecting the books on the floor where he’d sat them as he’d finished. “You read them without permission, but that’s alright, I love you. And mom said I needed to be really nice to you because you were shot.”

  “Thanks,” he said and tried to stop Pooch from crawling into his lap.

  “And. . .” Bella’s eyes grew bright, “Mom said you know her and you could invite her to my birthday party.”

  He cut a cold look at his sister and relented, letting the damn dog find a spot on his lap. “I . . . I don’t know her that well.”

  “Could you please ask her to come? I’d love you forever. And forever. And then more forever.”

  “I . . . I don’t know if . . . We’ll have to see.” He scooped the dog up, put him on the floor, and stood. “I think I have some gum in the extra bedroom on the nightstand.”

  Bella squealed. His sister moaned when her daughter ran out the door.

  “I swear you are paying for her teeth to be filled.”

  He frowned at the dog at his feet already wanting him to pick it up, and then at his sister. “Why did you tell Bella I’d invite Chloe to her birthday party?”

  “Because she’s Bella’s favorite author and I think you and Chloe might be right for each other.”

  “Right for each other? Why? Because she saw me naked? We don’t even know each other.”

  His sister laughed. “But think about what a cute meet story you would have. ‘The first time we met, I was naked and we rolled around in banana pudding together.’”

  “Seriously, why did you tell Bella that I would bring Chloe to her birthday party? Yo
u know I hate disappointing her . . .”

  “I know. That’s why I did it.” Kelly smiled and turned and walked down the hall.

  He followed her, watching to make sure he didn’t step on Pooch. “Fine, but when Bella’s upset, it’s on you.”

  His sister turned. “She won’t be upset if you invite Chloe.”

  “Even if I did invite her, why the hell do you think she’d come?”

  Kelly’s smile took over her face. Big and bright. “Because, like you said, she saw you naked.”

  He frowned.

  “And I saw how she looked at you . . . naked,” his sister continued. “Not to mention the way you looked at her. And she was fully clothed.” Pooch let out a small bark. His sister chuckled and glanced down at the dog sitting up on its hind legs, begging for Cary to pick it up. “It sort of reminds me of how Pooch looks at you. It was love at first sight between you two as well. Did you know he won’t even let any of us hold him? Look.” She knelt down to pick up the tiny dog. Pooch growled and backed off.

  “It’s not my fault that he has good taste.” Cary frowned.

  Kelly wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Chloe Sanders has good taste, too.”

  “Don’t go there,” he growled.

  “The only place I’m going is to start dinner.” She moved down the hall. “You know, she does birthday parties.”

  “What?” he asked, confused.

  “Chloe Sanders does birthday parties.”

  He had a crazy vision of her in bikini jumping out of a cake. “She does not.”

  “A year and a half ago, she held a contest and did three birthday parties. She came and gave all the kids books and did a reading. Bella was devastated she didn’t win.”

  He shook his head, his mind still stuck on that picture of her in that bathing suit. “What about taking me home?” He picked up Pooch, not because he liked him, but because he didn’t want to step on him. Muttering under his breath, he followed his sister into the kitchen. “I need to get home.”