It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,87

shouldn’t be surprising since the Grim Reaper sent souls into the darkness. I would think that would take a toll on a person or whatever he was. For the most part, Gideon was a really nice, stupidly gorgeous guy. It didn’t all add up with Grim Reaper at all.

“If you’re wrong about this hooker getup, I get to remove a body part of my choice,” I said, pulling the dress over my head and realizing I would have to wear a freaking thong and forego a bra altogether.

“Will you glue it back on?” Steve questioned with a delighted laugh.

“Of course,” I said with another eye roll. “I might have become a little violent in my forties, but I’m still a nice Southern girl.”

“Black stilettos,” Steve instructed. “Diamond studs—no other jewelry. No pantyhose. Actually, no pantyhose ever. We need to throw those nasty things away. They’re just awful.”

“Anything else?” I inquired sarcastically.

“Yes,” he said. “Hair down. Smoky eyes. A hint of pink gloss. Do not twist your hair up into a bun. You will be yourself. You will have fun. If you’d like to get intimate with Gideon, I’m fine with that—actually, I’d be thrilled. In fact, I’ll go to the nursing home and spend the night with Gram so you won’t feel awkward.”

“Umm… thank you, but no,” I said, feeling a small tsunami beginning to brew in my stomach. I truly couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with my husband. Of course, Steve was dead… and gay… but still… “I will not be sleeping with Gideon anytime soon.”

“Should I order some porn?” Steve asked, completely serious. “You know, so you can get up to speed on techniques?”

“No, you should not order any porn,” I snapped. “I’m going to go eat dinner with him—not blow him.”

Steve began to laugh. My language had taken a real dive in the last month. I tried to keep a straight face. I failed.

“Daisy, Daisy, Daisy,” Steve said, still grinning. “The mold was broken after you were created.”

“Thank God for small favors,” I muttered.

“Do you believe?” he asked, growing pensive.

“In what?”

“God,” he said. “Heaven. Hell.”

I sat back down on the bed. I didn’t know how to answer. Steve was headed somewhere in the near-ish future. I could lie and say I firmly believed, but he would know.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Do you?”

Steve shrugged. “Same. Although, now that I’m dead I’m hoping there’s something.”

“Where have you been this past year?” I asked. “Do you know?”

He floated to the bed and lay down on it. “The best way to describe it was like it was a dream sleep—everything around me seemed gray, lifeless. Maybe it was Purgatory.”

“Maybe,” I said, hoping that wasn’t what he was destined for when he eventually left me. The thought left me unsettled. “Everyone I’ve helped went into a golden light and seemed serene and happy.”

Steve was silent. I could tell he was thinking since he made the little noise that I’d missed so much. “I can only hope I’ll be in the same boat. Other than harming you, I led a mostly good life.”

“You didn’t harm me with intent,” I insisted, not liking the direction of the conversation. “You harmed yourself and I got caught in the crossfire.”

“It was some shitty crossfire,” Steve said quietly.

“Yes and no,” I told him, crawling up the bed and lying beside him. “Yes, it screwed me up sexually, but no I wouldn’t change it. My life without you would have been wrong. And making sense out of this is impossible.”

“You can’t change it,” he pointed out. “It happened.”

“It did,” I agreed. “You apologized and I accepted. I’ll love you until the day I die. Nothing will change that, Steve.”

He smiled and gently touched my cheek. It saddened me that his skin felt papery and not warm and alive, but he was dead. That’s the way it was. His touch was still lovely.

My husband was dead. I was alive and not quite as broken as I used to be.

My dead husband had basically set me up on a date with a man who was way out of my league. My dead husband had also revealed that I had no sexual game to said man who was way out of my league. Said man didn’t seem to care.

Tonight was going to be a disaster. I was sure of it.

“Stand up,” Steve directed.

I did. Slipping on the black stilettos that would make my feet scream in agony in about five minutes, I popped in the diamond studs Steve