Read Online Johnny Angel by Saranna DeWylde - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Saranna DeWylde
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eternally dead.
Wasn’t that just a bitch?
She supposed it didn’t matter much; she hadn’t scheduled anything else for the next year. Work, night school and weekends at home with her face buried in an ice cream trough. Sophie didn’t see how that was going to change in the foreseeable future and she should count her lucky stars she’d died before she put on any more weight. She had horrible visions of being cut out of her apartment and lifted down to an ambulance on a crane while still stuffing pastries in her mouth…
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” a deep voice asked her.
She couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but screw him. What did he know about it? “No. Do you see the way my ass looks in those pants? It’s like dueling cantaloupes.”
“I like how your ass looks in those pants,” he said as if he were admiring a work of art in the Louvre rather than her rear.
“Are you the Devil?” Sofia demanded. He had to be, who else would take such glee in her misery and the roundness of her gingerbread stuffed hind parts? Then there was the whole showing up as she’d died thing. Not a good sign.
“Not by a long shot. Now, stop wallowing and get back in your body. You’re not done yet.”
“What happened to go gently into the light?”
“Fuck that.” He snorted.
Sofia found herself slammed rather unceremoniously back into her body. She was still choking. God, it felt like she’d tried to stuff a chocolate-covered porcupine down her throat. Sofia coughed and horked, working the thing up her throat until finally it erupted from her mouth in lumpy 3D humiliation.
She discovered that those Docs she’d seen after kicking the proverbial bucket hadn’t been some near death hallucination because she spat her mangled ball of gingerbread all over them.
“Really, Sofia? I just had them shined,” he growled.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up, her watery eyes barely focusing on the strange man in her apartment. The first thing she noticed was that he had hair that reminded her of John Travlota in Grease . In fact, everything about him reminded her of that movie. The way he dressed, the black t-shirt with the pack of Marlboros rolled up in his sleeve, the chain on his wallet, the way his jeans were rolled up. His shoes weren’t Docs after all, but some other kind of boot she didn’t recognize.
She also noticed he was huge. Shoulders like a linebacker and the rest of his body could have been carved out of stone. The stranger had a face that could have belonged to any model, with hard, angular planes and black-fringed eyes that weren’t quite green, but weren’t blue either. He was so hot, she was sure something in the immediate vicinity would melt. Most likely her knickers.
And his tattoos. They belied the semi-wholesomeness portrayed in the film. There was a topless Bettie Page on his bicep wearing a Santa hat and what on first glance had appeared to barbed-wire around the bottom of his bicep was in actuality Christmas lights twined around barbed-wire. What was next a flaming reindeer skull on his back with a banner that said “Mother?”
He was still hot and she was probably still hallucinating.
Too bad she had to die to get a man in her apartment. Sofia wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover he was simply a figment of her imagination. After all, what man really had eyes like that? She must be high.
“Back to your old self, then?” he demanded, a blue-black brow arching with his question.
“No, you’re still here.”
“You didn’t scream, that’s good.” The man nodded his approval.
“Why would I scream? And my throat’s sore anyway. Choking on a gingerbread man will do that to you. So assuming this isn’t a hallucination, who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?” She asked this as if there was going to be some acceptable answer that didn’t end in crazy. She’d been dead. He’d shoved her back in her body. But that
Wasn’t that just a bitch?
She supposed it didn’t matter much; she hadn’t scheduled anything else for the next year. Work, night school and weekends at home with her face buried in an ice cream trough. Sophie didn’t see how that was going to change in the foreseeable future and she should count her lucky stars she’d died before she put on any more weight. She had horrible visions of being cut out of her apartment and lifted down to an ambulance on a crane while still stuffing pastries in her mouth…
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” a deep voice asked her.
She couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but screw him. What did he know about it? “No. Do you see the way my ass looks in those pants? It’s like dueling cantaloupes.”
“I like how your ass looks in those pants,” he said as if he were admiring a work of art in the Louvre rather than her rear.
“Are you the Devil?” Sofia demanded. He had to be, who else would take such glee in her misery and the roundness of her gingerbread stuffed hind parts? Then there was the whole showing up as she’d died thing. Not a good sign.
“Not by a long shot. Now, stop wallowing and get back in your body. You’re not done yet.”
“What happened to go gently into the light?”
“Fuck that.” He snorted.
Sofia found herself slammed rather unceremoniously back into her body. She was still choking. God, it felt like she’d tried to stuff a chocolate-covered porcupine down her throat. Sofia coughed and horked, working the thing up her throat until finally it erupted from her mouth in lumpy 3D humiliation.
She discovered that those Docs she’d seen after kicking the proverbial bucket hadn’t been some near death hallucination because she spat her mangled ball of gingerbread all over them.
“Really, Sofia? I just had them shined,” he growled.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up, her watery eyes barely focusing on the strange man in her apartment. The first thing she noticed was that he had hair that reminded her of John Travlota in Grease . In fact, everything about him reminded her of that movie. The way he dressed, the black t-shirt with the pack of Marlboros rolled up in his sleeve, the chain on his wallet, the way his jeans were rolled up. His shoes weren’t Docs after all, but some other kind of boot she didn’t recognize.
She also noticed he was huge. Shoulders like a linebacker and the rest of his body could have been carved out of stone. The stranger had a face that could have belonged to any model, with hard, angular planes and black-fringed eyes that weren’t quite green, but weren’t blue either. He was so hot, she was sure something in the immediate vicinity would melt. Most likely her knickers.
And his tattoos. They belied the semi-wholesomeness portrayed in the film. There was a topless Bettie Page on his bicep wearing a Santa hat and what on first glance had appeared to barbed-wire around the bottom of his bicep was in actuality Christmas lights twined around barbed-wire. What was next a flaming reindeer skull on his back with a banner that said “Mother?”
He was still hot and she was probably still hallucinating.
Too bad she had to die to get a man in her apartment. Sofia wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover he was simply a figment of her imagination. After all, what man really had eyes like that? She must be high.
“Back to your old self, then?” he demanded, a blue-black brow arching with his question.
“No, you’re still here.”
“You didn’t scream, that’s good.” The man nodded his approval.
“Why would I scream? And my throat’s sore anyway. Choking on a gingerbread man will do that to you. So assuming this isn’t a hallucination, who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?” She asked this as if there was going to be some acceptable answer that didn’t end in crazy. She’d been dead. He’d shoved her back in her body. But that
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