Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (10 page)

“Yes, and he’s a cop.”

“A cop?”

“Yeah, the cop who got shot,” Chloe said. “And I let him crawl in bed with me. You see how messed up I am?”

“You aren’t . . . messed up. I’m just . . . still not following you. I thought we were talking about Johnny Depp?”

“We are,” Chloe said.

Sheri scratched her head. “Johnny Depp got shot?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Cary Stevens got shot.”

Sheri started shaking her head. “I’m still lost here.”

“Well, how do you think I feel?” Chloe did another wipe at her nose. “I’m sure he’s fat and ugly though. Tell me he’s fat and ugly.”

Sheri’s brow wrinkled. “You want me to tell you that Johnny Depp is fat and ugly?” She held up her arms. “Okay, I completely take back what I said earlier. Maybe you’re not okay.”

“I told you I wasn’t.” Chloe dropped her head on her desk and moaned.

• • •

“This is crazy,” Chloe said when Sheri opened the passenger side door and ordered her to get out of her car.

“No, it’s not,” Sheri insisted. “This is the first time I’ve seen you cry since. . . a long time. The first time you’ve admitted you need to change things. This is progress, and we need to keep it going. Let’s get to the bottom of this now.”

“But . . . ?” She looked up at the six-story massive building. “What am I going to do? Walk into his hospital room and say, ‘Oh, hi. I just wanted to see if you were the same person I met in a waiting room to the afterlife?’ They’ll have me in a little white coat and hauled off to the psych ward before I can tell them it’s all your fault.”

Sheri laughed. “I love that you never lose your ability to joke.”

“Who’s joking?” Chloe made a face.

“Get out of this car or I am going to drag you.”

Chloe looked up at the Glencoe Regional Hospital and back at her best friend. “Seriously, this is nuts. You’re crazy if you—”

“I’m crazy?” Sheri asked. “You’re the one who has an imaginary boyfriend. Now get your butt out of my car and let’s go find out if Cary Stevens looks like Johnny Depp.”

After Chloe finally calmed down enough to make sense of things, Sheri had insisted they come here. And for about two minutes, it sounded like a good idea. Get her answer and move on. Then reality sank in. If she really believed she’d met this man in the afterlife, she probably needed a trip to the psych ward.

Sheri stood by the car door with her arms crossed. “Look, I know it’s not in your nature . . . As a matter of fact, I think you are totally against it . . . But you
can
lie. People do it all the time. All you do is walk into his room, and if he’s old and fat, you say . . . ‘Oops, I’m sorry, I got the wrong room.’ You leave, and on Friday you go out with Dan and start fresh.”

Chloe swallowed. “And if he isn’t fat and ugly? If he really looks like Johnny Depp . . . What do I do then?”

“Then you get the hell out of there so I can move in and ask him on a date. I mean, who doesn’t love Johnny Depp?”

“I’m serious. What if . . . if it wasn’t a dream, but an afterlife experience?”

“Then ask him if he wants to give you some real life experiences.” Sheri reached down and tugged Chloe out of the car. “Let’s go.”

“What will I say?” Chloe got out, but she still had a whole shitload of reservations.

“I told you. Lie.”

“I’ll screw up the lie.” She stood beside Sheri. “I’m no good at lying. In tenth grade, when you met Jimmy Camden at that park and your mom called me and asked where you were . . .”

Sheri made a face. “You told her I went horseback riding. We didn’t know anyone who had a horse.”

“That’s my point! I suck at lying.”

Sheri sighed. “Look, you had this guy in your bed, so don’t look at this as a big deal, just make small talk.”

“I didn’t have sex with him.” Chloe paused. “Oh, crap! What if he doesn’t remember it, or me?”

“If you’d had sex with him, you wouldn’t have this problem.” Sheri grinned.

Chloe reached over and grasped her friend’s arm. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t know what I’ll say or—”

“Play it by ear. You’re a writer. Dialogue is your forte. You’ll come up with something.”

“I’m a writer who hasn’t written in a year.” Damn, that was only the second time she’d admitted that out loud, the first time being to Cary, aka, Johnny Depp. She cut her eyes back to the hospital. Was he real? Was he in there right now?

“You’re a writer who hasn’t written or had sex in a year. And we’re trying to fix that.”

Right then, Chloe’s phone rang. She looked at the number. “Oh, shit! It’s my mom.” She handed Sheri her phone. “Tell her you’ve had me committed. But to enjoy her cruise.”

“No, I think I’ll tell her you’ve gone horseback riding.”

Chloe snagged the phone back as the call went to voicemail. She stood there a few seconds and just breathed until Sheri nudged her forward.

“This is so wrong,” Chloe said, but she started walking with Sheri. She had only gotten a few steps when the sound of a car engine filled the hot air. She saw the black truck racing toward them, grabbed Sheri’s elbow, and screamed.

• • •

The blond nurse wrapped Cary’s leg and taped off his IV so he could shower. He’d convinced his sisters to go down to eat lunch. Now, the nurse who had insisted someone help him into the bathroom, had gotten a phone call and ran out as if it’d been an emergency.

Glancing at the clock, he exhaled. It had been twenty minutes, and his sisters were going to be back soon. He looked at the bathroom door. Hell, it was only five feet away . . . how hard could it be?

He sat up, and when he didn’t feel dizzy, he slowly slid off the bed. He stood, putting most of his weight on his left leg. Not too bad. His first step however, hurt like hell. He turned to grab the bed, but caught the rolling bedside table holding his untouched lunch tray instead.

He managed to right himself, but the beef stew, peas, and banana pudding weren’t so lucky. The food went cascading downward, some of it clinging to his hospital gown, the rest painting the white tiled floor.

“Mother fracking hell!”

Taking a deep breath, now more determined than ever to get a shower, he tightened his jaw and limped to the bathroom.

• • •

The black truck moved past them. Not the same truck that had hit her. Chloe forced herself to breathe.

“What is it?” Sheri asked, then her gaze shot to the truck.

“Oh, you thought that was the same truck?”

“Yes, I mean no. It just freaked me out for a second.”

“With good reason.” Sheri reached up and pried Chloe’s hand from her forearm.

Realizing how hard she had been squeezing, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

“Hey, it’s okay. I haven’t even stopped to think that you might be dealing with this shit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.  I just heard the engine, saw the truck, and lost it for a second.”

Sheri frowned. “Have you heard if that guy got caught yet?”

“No. The last thing I heard was they thought they had an address on him. So maybe they have him locked up by now.”

“Good,” Sheri said. “I know you’ll be better then. Now, let’s go see Cary Stevens.”

Chloe forced herself to move, but something told her this was a mistake.

• • •

The water was barely warm, but at least Cary wasn’t wearing pudding anymore, and either his leg had stopped hurting so much, or he was getting used to the pain.

He brushed his teeth with the hospital toothbrush, that had probably cost him fifty bucks. His hand was on the doorknob when he realized his problem.

He needed something to wear. He tried wrapping the poor excuse of a towel around himself, but it was about six inches too short.

“Hell.” He decided to step out, and just slip under the covers until the nurse came back. He got one step out when the room door swished open.

“Wait,” he called out, but it was too late. He imagined his two sisters seeing him naked, and that was so bad.

Ah, but it was so much worse.

She, as in his dream girl, stood in his hospital room. Time stopped.

Her mouth dropped open. His dropped open. Standing, with towel hanging from his hand, he stared in disbelief. She existed. She was real.

She was as beautiful as he’d dreamed her to be.

And he was bare-ass naked. “Shit!”

“So . . . so sorry.” She shifted back a step.

Forgetting his hurt leg, he shot toward the bed. Pain shot up his leg. His foot landed on a pudding-soaked vanilla wafer and he started down.

She lunged forward as if to help. He wasn’t sure if it was the peas or the stew that got her.  But something did. She yelped. He yelped. Arms and legs became tangled as he tried to catch her and she tried to catch him. But then something caught him alright—right in the balls.

He grunted and quit fighting and they both went down.

He ended up on top of her. Both his forearms pressed to the tile and coated in a mixture of gooey pudding and beef stew. Hurting like hell, but afraid his weight was too much, he rolled off her. His ass landed on the cold hospital floor. He felt the peas smashing under his bare butt.

Sitting up, he looked around for . . .  “You’re on my towel,” he said, trying not to growl.

She shot up—snatching the towel as if to give it to him—but she didn’t stay up for long.  It was like slow motion. He saw her foot come down on a glob of pudding.

It must be slicker than shit. She fell right into him and he landed on his back again, and this time she was on top of him.

He looked down at soft brown hair covered with stew and bits of carrot. She lifted her face and their gazes met. He stared right into her eyes, beautiful blue eyes. He might have appreciated those gorgeous eyes, as well as the feel of her body against his bare one, if his balls weren’t still throbbing.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her face bright red as she scrambled to get up again, but when she did, her knee shot up and hit him again right between his legs. Harder this time.

“Damn it!” He couldn’t help but growl.

“Sorry,” she muttered, now on all fours attempting to crawl away. Her knee went down on a patch of pudding and shot out from under her and she belly flopped on the tile. Moaning and muttering, she finally turned over and plopped her butt down, facing him.

He put his hands over his privates, not so much for modesty’s sake, but for protection in case she tried to get him again.

He looked at her—pink T-shirt coated with his lunch, her expression one of total humiliation. Then he glanced down at himself, wearing only a mixture of green peas and banana pudding. Why was she humiliated? Didn’t he own that emotion right now?

Then, for some unknown reason, his mind flashed to the image of her sleeping in her bed, wearing that sexy nightshirt with the word ‘Angel’ written across it. She had looked like an angel. Who knew angels could be such ball busters?

They continued to stare at each other, neither of them speaking. And that’s when Kelly, Beth and another woman—with pink hair—walked in. Who the hell was the woman with pink hair?

“Oh, my, Peewee, what’s—”

“It’s Cary,” he seethed, cupping his privates a little tighter.

Beth stopped talking. Kelly just stared at him in complete puzzlement.

The pink-haired woman laughed, but quickly put her hand over her mouth as if feeling guilty.

“Get me a blanket,” he said to his stunned sisters, not moving his hands from covering the important parts.

“Oh, my goodness,” Kelly finally spoke. But then he realized her shock wasn’t about him, or the situation.

“You’re Chloe Sanders, aren’t you?” She reached out and gave the nodding woman a hand. “We’re Cary’s sisters.”

Oh, yeah, help the woman up, but not the naked injured guy.

Chloe slowly got to her feet. She’d barely gotten upright when Beth continued, “My daughter loves your books.
Loves
them. We came to your first book signing at that little bookstore in Glencoe. I’m sure you don’t remember, but . . .”

“Can someone please give me a blanket?” He eyed Beth while Kelly continued to praise Chloe’s books.

“Wait. Do you two know each other?” Kelly asked him as if he wasn’t bare-ass naked holding his injured privates in his hands, and his entire body covered in his lunch. Something tickled his chest and he looked down to find a vanilla wafer stuck to his nipple. If he had a free hand he would knock it off. But he didn’t.

“Can you get me a blanket?” he repeated.

Kelly glanced back at Chloe. “Oh, my gosh, I wish Bella was here.” Her words no more left her lips when she refocused on him. “Well, maybe not.” Then his sister started laughing, followed by Beth, and the woman with pink hair.

Chloe Sanders seemed to be the only reasonable woman in the room. Not only did she
not
laugh, but she carefully moved to his bed and yanked free a sheet and held it out.

“Just drop it,” he said, unwilling to move his hands with her this close. That brought on more laughter from the other three women.

Wrapping the sheet around him, he reached for the bed to pull himself up. When she offered to help him, he said,, “That’s okay.”

Giving the crowd his back, he rose. Probably not covering everything if the chorus of giggles was any indication. That, along with the cool air on his ass.

This time, even Chloe might have contributed to the chorale.

He planned on going straight to the bathroom, but he heard Kelly pose the question again. “So, how do you know my brother?”

He did an about-face and sat on the edge of the bed, arranging the sheet so he wasn’t giving peek shots, and waited to hear Chloe’s answer.

Her expression turned into one of pure panic. “I. . .” She glanced back at the woman with pink hair as if pleading for help. So, they knew each other, huh?

“Well. . .” the woman started speaking, pretty much proving his theory that they knew each other. “Chloe doesn’t know him, but she just learned that they were both involved in accidents caused by the same man. I’m Sheri, Chloe’s publicist, by the way.”