Heaven Help Me, Or Hell Have Me (Heaven Help Me #1) (4 page)

He hasn’t moved an inch.
Not when I got up to go to the bathroom, not when I got up to get
more wine, not when Cici finally left. And I begin to think about
the infinite patience a ghost must have, and how I’m probably not
going to win this little standoff. Well, either that or he died all
over again and that’s where his body is setting up shop.

I dare a quick glance, the
first in over two hours. His eyes narrow. Sooo
not
just a corpse propped against
the wall. Well, I suppose that’s good in its own respect. ‘Cause
really, what would I do then?

“
Are you going to keep
pretending you don’t see me?”

I’m tired enough to where
I almost answer
Yes
, but catch myself. And yeah, this can’t go on. Ghosty Man
doesn’t even look tired. What am I gonna do? Sit here on the couch
all night? Can’t stay awake forever. Maybe if I go to bed, he’ll
get the hint and go away.

I’m thinking it’s a
plan—not a good one, but a plan nevertheless—and I go about my
routine of getting ready for bed. It’s in the middle of my routine
that G-man decides to move. And, of course, it’s right in the
middle of the hall as I’m heading to the bathroom.

Please, let him move. Please, let him
move. Please, let him move. And I keep walking, and he’s not
moving, and I’m mentally preparing myself for the collision. And
then he moves at the last second. I let out a relieved sigh.
Couldn’t be helped. And of course he hears it. Again, couldn’t be
helped.

“
Next time, I’m not moving
and you can plow right into me.”

I cringe ‘cause I know
he’ll do it, too. So I brush my teeth and throw my hair in a pony,
and think about my plan of attack. Typically, at bedtime, I’m
wandering all around my space thinking of one thing, forgetting it,
then thinking of another before I finally wind down enough to
crash. That won’t work here. There’s only so many times I can dodge
this man.

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 sitting 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.