Sooo, living room first. Turn off the lights and TV, check the door, make sure the window is open for Cat. Then, kitchen. Lights, oven, coffee maker. After that, bedroom. Get dressed... And how in God’s good name am I gonna accomplish that? Okay, close the door, and hope G-man has a sense of decency. Though, haunting a girl in her own home kinda throws that theory right out the window.
Oh, well. I can only do what I can do, right? Ready, set, go!
I fly out of the bathroom, a woman on a mission. Destination: Living room. I throw my shoulders back, my jaw is set, my eyes on the prize. Ain’t nothing stopping this girl! Well, except for the bulk of a ghost stepping in my way, arms crossed, smirking and green eyes glinting. Aaand I veer into the kitchen to avoid him.
Dammit. So much for my resolve.
I kick myself for losing my nerve in two seconds flat, and do my whole kitchen routine (Hey, look—I remembered to turn the stove off this time.), and think about how I’m gonna get past G-man to the living room. And that’s when I see it, right out of the corner of my eye, clear as day.
He disappears.
He can do that? My breath catches. Oh, and he’s gone? For good? I smile as I poke my head out into the hall, not caring if he sees me looking. It’s worth the risk, in my opinion. And he’s not there! He’s gone! I squeal—can’t help it—and do a little jig.
Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I scream, my heart jams into my throat, and I spin around. And there he is, with that same damn smirk, looking very pleased with himself.
I shove him. Hard. “You almost gave me a heart attack! What? Is it lonely where you’re at? You looking for company, are you? Well, go kill someone else and leave me alone!” I shove him again, just ‘cause he’s there and I can, and I’m mad enough to not care. But just ‘cause I do it, doesn’t mean it does any good. G-man doesn’t move, like, an inch, and leans into me instead.
“Stop pushing me.”
I lift my chin, get on my tip-toes, and lean in myself. I realize as I’m doing it that it’s probably not the wisest thing to do. But, again, with the not caring. “Stop haunting me.”
“Haunting you?” He has the nerve to look surprised, and that bothers me even more than his intimidation tactics.
Why can’t I have a nice G-man? One who will keep me company, or scrub my back in the tub, or—I don’t know—do my laundry. But I know the answer before I finish thinking the question: ‘Cause it’s me, that’s why. And here I thought my luck was turning around.
I scoff.
He quirks a brow. “You think I’m a ghost, don’t you?”
My turn to be surprised. Aaand I take a step back. “You’re not? What are you then?” ‘Cause I know Cici didn’t see him, and people don’t just pop in and out of existence at will. But oh-my-God, how cool would that be?!
Focus. Focus!
I take another step back. Just in case.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
And people accuse me of being slow. “Umm, I think I just made that clear.” Now, I’m thinking I’m more annoyed than scared and decide to hold my ground.
He slips his hands in his pockets, making his pecs bulge out. Oh yeah, baby. Do that again. I shake my head. Bad G-man with the distraction techniques. Well, it’s not going to work.
Then he asks, “Do you remember what you said the day before last?”
I tear my eyes from his chest to his face. And look at that view. Just as good. “I’m sorry—what?” Dammit. I do the drool chin-check, sly-like, so he doesn’t know what I’m doing. I hope.
“The other day,” he prompts. “Do you remember what you said?”
I think back—oh, that day—and scowl. “I’m pretty sure I said a lot of choice words on that particular day.”
“Yes, but one thing in particular put you in the spotlight.”
“Whose spotlight?”
“Do you remember what it was?”
And then I don’t care how hot he is. He’s just ticking me off. “Do you even know how to answer a straight forward question?”
He ignores me. Of course. “You said Fuck Heaven, Hell take me.”
I think back, cringe, and nod. “Yeeeah. I think I did say that. But I was pretty fed up.” Is it a defense that’s going to hold up in a court of law? Naw, it’s pretty weak. But it’s the only defense I got.
“I guess you were,” he says, blandly. And for the second time today, I feel like I’m sitting in the principal’s office. “And, as it stands, they’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”
My eyes dart away, then come right back to G-man. My brain’s still trying to catch up. “Who? What offer?”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. And I suddenly know I don’t want to hear the answer. And from the look on his face, he knows I don’t want to know. In fact, I have half a mind to stick my fingers in my ears and La, la, la my way to bed. But, let’s face it, that would be juvenile, unladylike and totally inappropriate.
“Are you ready now?” he asks.
So I cross my arms, stomp my foot, and stick out my tongue instead.
He raises a brow and leans a hip against the counter. And it tells me all I need to know. He’s not saying a word until he has my full, undivided attention. Well, he’s got it now. I’m so wound up about what he’s going to say next, I just might tip over no matter what it is.
I lean against the counter, too, to brace myself. And then I ask again, “Who? And what offer?”
He studies me half a tick and nods. “Hell.”
“Hell?” I whisper. And then I do something I didn’t even think was possible, something I always thought was just a figure of speech. I gulp.
“You’re worried?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says, leaning in. “You should be.”
“And you’re...” From Hell? I don’t say the words—for once the mental filter works—but I’m feeling the fear now, and push off the counter and take a casual step back.
“No, I’m not from Hell.” And he looks positively pissed off I’d even think it.
But who can blame me? All this fire-and-brimstone talk, and him standing there like sin personified—what else am I supposed to think? Plus, the man’s dead, being a ghost...
“Wait. You said you’re not a ghost.”
“I never said that.”
“Oh.” I think back, and he’s right. “So you are a ghost?”
“Nope.”
I glare and he laughs. And it’s throaty and husky and it’s throwing my game off. Stupid...whatever-he-is. “Ugh. What are you then?”
His laugh dies off as he smiles. And it’s beautiful, genuine, nice, sweet, and friendly—all things I know he isn’t, and I don’t trust it one little bit. “I’m here to help.”
“Sure you are. Great help you’ve been so far.”
He quirks a brow. “You don’t have a boss pawing at you anymore, do you?”
I freeze and stare and watch. And he waits patiently for me to put the pieces together. But see there? They don’t quite fit ‘cause I don’t know what’s what yet. “You did that? Got him fired?”
“Karma has a way of catching up with people.” I don’t respond, ‘cause I don’t know what to say. But he seems okay with that. “Lucky for you, someone else was listening the other night, too.”
And there’s only one logical response to that. “Heaven.”
He nods.
“So you’re—what? A holy spirit or something?”
He shakes his head, his smile getting bigger. Sassier. He’s enjoying himself far too much.
“You’re not going to make me play twenty questions again, are you?”
Then he laughs again, that throaty chuckle, and it derails all coherent thought. Damn, he’s sexy.
Aaand, he’s still talking. Whoops. “Sorry. I missed that last part. You’re my what?”
“Guardian angel.”
Yeeeah, didn’t see that one coming.
Chapter 6
So, I’m sittin
g on the couch, picking at my cuticles and waiting for G-man (name still fits) to stop ranting and raving. A sigh and a glance later, and then I’m studying him, watching him pace, the muscles rippling and clenching. It seems my guardian angel is a man of few words until you get him going, and then he won’t shut up. And ‘cause of this, he’s starting to come across as more of a dork than a hot, virile babe.
Maybe, if I ask nice, he’ll just stand still and shut up for a little bit so I can appreciate what God gave him. Er, literally. The thought is sobering, but it makes him no less drool-worthy.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I sigh, dreamy-like, as I enjoy the view in a few precious moments of silence as he waits for my answer. “Not in the least.”
He groans and scrubs his hands down his face. Flops on the couch. “I’m gonna get my wings clipped. I just know it.”
Now that gets my attention. “What are you talking about?”
“If a guardian angel fails his charge, his wings can get clipped.”
“Okay, so number one, I don’t see any wings. And, number two, how have you failed me? I mean, you got rid of Mr. Gropey Hands Heaton. Major tick mark in the plus column if you ask me.”
“True.” And then he mumbles, “And your hair, the free coffee, the stove—”
“The stove?”
He gives me an exasperated look. “You forgot to turn it off. Are you trying to burn yourself to a crisp?”
“Yes. I thought it was a lovely idea,” I say, sarcastic-like. “And here you messed up my plan for an awesome tan.”
“And the cat, though why you like tripping over him is beyond me.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. You moved Cat?” I huff and cross my arms. “Do you know how much that screwed with me?”
“Yes, I saw. Which is why I put him back, evidently so you could fall on your face—something you much rather prefer.”
I point and glare, but I’m smiling, ‘cause yeah, it’s funny. “I wasn’t expecting him there. That’s on you.” I giggle and he grins in response.
“Yeah, sorry. I messed that one up. I was only trying to help.”
“Yeah, I get that.” The thing with Cat, though, he’s equal parts stubborn and lazy, and it gets me to thinking. “How in the world did you get him to move? I didn’t see you creeping around this morning.” But now that I think about it, I did feel him.
He narrows his eyes, assumingly at the ‘creeping’ reference, but he answers my very straight forward questions. And it proves one thing: Miracles do happen. “I had a little chat with him, and he saw the wisdom of my words.”
I snort. “Fancy yourself Dr. Doolittle, do ya?” He laughs and I’m glad he can take the teasing in stride, ‘cause yeah, he’s gonna need to if we’re supposed to get along. Which, I’m thinking, is the whole idea. “So, I’m curious. What in the world did you say to Cat to get him to listen.”
“I threatened to fix the window so you could shut it.”
I point at the window in question, give it a glance. “You mean it won’t shut, even if I try?” Crappy apartment. Crappier superintendent, telling me things were in tip-top shape. I try to be mad about it, but eh...I really don’t care. It’s my space, and I love it for what it is. Mine.
His eyebrows shoot up, nearly to his hair line. “You’ve never tried? Why do you leave it open?”
“For Cat. He’s gotta have a safe place to go.”
G-man looks at me, smiles again, and shrugs. “Goodwill towards animals. That’s something, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m just trying to get a feel for you. You are my charge. I need to learn as much as I can about you.”
It makes sense, well...as much as any of this does. And I wonder how all this works. “How does all this work? I mean, I was lucky enough to have Heaven hear me and cover my back. But why now? ‘Cause seriously, this help was a long time coming. My life has always been one disaster after another.” I throw up a hand to ward off the argument I see brewing in those eyes of his. “I appreciate the help and all, but I’m just trying to get a handle on it. Why now? Why not last week when Mr. Hands almost caught me? Or last month when that guy almost mugged me?”
“You were almost mugged?”
“Yeah, but there were people around and that scared him off.”
“Oh.” He says it absently, looking at the floor, and I’m wondering if he’s still with me.
“So? Why not then? Or last year when I almost got hit by that car? Why now?”
“You what?” His eyes bulge—such pretty green—and his jaw drops.
I snap my fingers in his face. “Hey, stay with me here. Why now?”
“All I know is this: Your plea the other night opened the floodgates and invited Hell to corrupt your soul.”
“Groovy,” I say, dryly. “And so the PTB slapped a file in your hands and sent you off to watch over me?”
“PTB?”
“Powers That Be.” I tip my head and study him. He looks normal, sounds normal, seems like the sanity is intact. “Don’t you ever watch TV?”
“Nooo.” He looks at me like I’m nuts. “You did catch the part about me being a guardian angel right?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I just figured it comes with some downtime. So, G-man, what is it you do for fun then?”
“I study.” He shakes his head. “G-man?”
“Yeah. It was for Ghosty Man, but now it’s for Guardian Angel Man. It’s just easier. A nickname, if you will.”
“Ooor you could just call me by my name.”
I grin and point. Dork. “I could, if you actually give it to me.”
His back straightens. “I didn’t? Oh, it’s Nikolas.”
“Nikolas.” I try it out, roll it off my tongue, toss it around my mind. “That works for me.”
“I’m so relieved.”
And I laugh at his dry tone. “So what do you mean you study? You have the bad luck of dying, and they actually make you go to school up there?”
He smiles. It’s nice. “I attend the academy. I’m in training.”
“For what?”
“Umm, to be a guardian angel.”
I throw out my hands. “Whoa. Back up. Heaven sent me a trainee? What am I, your class project?”
“No. I mean... I don’t know.” He looks just as frustrated as I feel.
“What do you mean, you don’t know.”
“A trainee has never been assigned to anyone before. They have strict rules about that.”
“And how did you slip through the cracks?”
“They said they needed someone in a pinch. That they weren’t expecting to have to assign anyone to you, and no one else was available.”
And then I just laugh. No, scratch that, I’m roaring. Tears, aching belly, laughing so hard I have to tinkle. Isn’t it just my luck? I need protection from Hell, and I get a guardian angel trainee.
Nikky-poo isn’t thinking it’s so funny. He’s watching, scowling, and waiting for my fit to be over. And once it is, he states the obvious. “I don’t think this is funny.”
“I get that. And how can you not?” I snicker again.
“Because it’s my ass on the line, not to mention yours, if we don’t make this work.” He groans and throws his head against the back of the couch, stares at the ceiling. “Yup. The wings are getting clipped. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Now. Now. Let’s not get dramatic. Look, you listed all the good deeds you did for me—thank you, by the way. And I’m not seeing the negative here.”
“For one, I made you fall on your face this morning.”
I waved a hand. “Yeah, but it was my back, and it would’ve happened eventually, anyway.”
“And you’re not supposed to be able to see me, much less have a conversation with me.”
“Sooo...why am I?”
“I knew you could see me, so I tried to make the best of the situation. I mean, I’d already screwed up. I thought if I explained who I was a
nd why I was here, it would minimize your fear.” He tilts his head to look at me. “I can’t watch over you without being around. And, apparently, I can’t hide from you.”
I think about it, and try to offer a bright side. “Hey, I couldn’t see you this morning. That’s something.”
“I wasn’t exactly here this morning. I was taking care of the issue with your boss, but I was checking in, so to speak.” He groans again, drapes his arm over his eyes. “Transmutation 101 is a basic course. I should have this nailed down by now, and I can’t even get that right.”
I feel bad, but it’s not like I can take back seeing him. So I try to be helpful instead. “Well, you must have done something right. Cici couldn’t see you.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. And I still feel for the man, but how do you soothe an angel? I pat his muscled thigh, innocent-like. (I swear!) “It’ll be okay, G-man. We’ll figure it out.”
“They’re going to take away my license. I know it. Man, I just got this gig, too.”
“Gig?” I can’t help it. It just flies out, leaky mental filter and all that. “What? Did you die in the 70’s?”
He peeks out from under his arm. “Hey, gig is timeless.”
“Whatever.”
“This from the woman who says groovy.”
“No...now that is timeless.”
“Whatever.”
Sassy angel. But I’m feeling like we’re back on familiar ground, and I smile at him. “To Hell with it. You’ll be okay.”
He cringes. “Would you stop saying that? What do you think got you in this position in the first place?”
I giggle and shake my head. “Look, Nikky-poo, if we’re going to work together on this, you’re gonna have to loosen up. I don’t know what they put in the file they gave you, but trouble—I’m a magnet for it. Always have been, always will be. And I don’t think that’s changing, with or without you.” I slap a hand on his knee and push off the couch. “So you need to loosen up, stay on your toes, expect the unexpected. All good things, my friend. We’ll take the punches as they come, and we’ll fight the good fight. We will prevail!” I stick a fist in the air for good measure.
Heaven Help Me, Or Hell Have Me (Heaven Help Me #1) Page 3