Divine and Dateless

by Tara West

  “Yeah.” I frowned as my valet was trying to shove the plate into my hands. “But my stomach is really sensitive.”

  “Stella had terrible lactose intolerance before she died. Didn’t you, Stella?” Grandma waved her fork at a woman lounging on the sofa. Her heels were kicked off and a shirtless cowboy was massaging her feet.

  “Sure did,” Stella answered in a sing-song voice as she twirled a heaping bite of caramel cheesecake onto her fork.

  “This is Heaven, Ash.” Uncle Mikey said. “You can eat whatever you want and not get sick or gain weight. Your hair is always flawless.” He raked a hand through his perfectly gelled hair, and every strand fell back into place as if bewitched by magic. “Your skin is forever smooth.” He patted his rosy cheek, batting his lashes.

  Though it has been nearly twenty-five years, I remembered how sick and sallow Uncle Mikey looked when he’d died. The man standing before me looked like a modern, business version of the Greek god, Adonis.

  “Try one,” the Swede inched close to me, his arm grazing the side of my shoulder. He stabbed a piece of cheesecake and held it beneath my nose. “I know how much you love chocolate.”

  I shivered as I took a hesitant step back. How did the guy know I loved chocolate? I’m a woman, so it’s a given I would love it, but I lived for the stuff. I had wet dreams about chocolate, from fresh-baked gooey chocolate-chip cookies, to rich devil’s food cakes dripping with butter cream frosting, to brownies topped with ice cream and warm, thick fudge, all gluten free, of course. When I was not dreaming of it, I was eating it, probably one reason why I’d split my yoga pants last month at the gym, and not at all due to the fact that I was over exerting myself.

  As if.

  The Swede was still standing there with that plate in his hands, looking at me with the sweetest expression and not saying a word. As if he sensed my discomfort, he backed up a step. I was still trying to figure out why the guy made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he looked like a tall Aryan god, but he sounded and smelled like Grim.

  Maybe it was because I still couldn’t get over the way Grim had reacted when I’d thanked him for not throwing me in sludge. He’d had no right to get angry after the way he’d treated me tonight, first kissing me, then acting standoffish. Being with Grim made me feel as if my emotions were tethered to a yo-yo, and he’d been stringing me up and down all evening long.

  Even though the Swede was really cute and sweet, damn me for missing Grim and wanting to get strung up again. Was I always destined to fall for jerks?

  While my heart and body were at war with what I should do next, the Swede made the decision for me. He dipped a thick finger in fudge chocolate sauce, leaned forward, and placed a dab on my lips. I was still hesitant to taste the chocolate, but the mesmerizing look in his eyes made me do it.

  One taste.

  One blissfully glorious taste was all it took to transport me to another dimension I hadn’t even known existed. It was as if my taste buds were connected to my soul, and my soul had just been untethered. I was flying high, higher than a bird, even higher than an angel, to a place where happiness, peace, and pleasure were three parts of a whole, the trifecta of my eternal bliss.

  All from a taste of cheesecake. Wow. Imagine what eating a whole slice would do.

  By the time I’d dug into my second slice of chocolate nirvana, I was floating, and I didn’t mean metaphorically. I meant I was floating. I’d actually risen into the rafters.

  It was the weirdest feeling hovering above the furniture, and yet, it also felt perfectly natural. What the hell was in that pie? These ascended took getting high to a whole new level. My body wasn’t the only thing tripping. My soul was, too. I was pretty sure, when I’d first gotten here, I’d been upset over something, but I couldn’t recall what. Whatever it was, it must not have been very important.

  All that mattered was that after years apart, I was finally reunited with my family. A few great-aunts, great-grandparents, and second cousins had joined us in the rafters. They were laughing and sharing stories about their time on Earth. It felt so good for all of us to be together. I had never met my Sicilian great-grandmother, Giovana, before. I remembered hearing wonderful stories about her from someone, though I couldn’t recall whom. Giovana was young and pretty like my Grandma Clara, and full of life when she talked, waving her arms around and occasionally swearing in Italian.

  After several hours of fun and laughter, the buzz from the cheesecake started to wear off, and we gradually floated to the floor. Uncles, aunts, and cousins kissed me on the cheek and wished me goodnight, and soon it was just my Uncle Mikey, Grandma, and me, along with one of my grandma’s friends, Eileen, a chatty woman with a perfect hour-glass figure and poofy, brassy hair. Our four valets were still chatting beside the punch fountain, but judging by the looks Eileen was casting at her muscular Marine, I doubted they’d stick around much longer.

  “What did you do to shoot to the top?” Eileen gave me a pointed look as she fluffed the red puffball on her head. “Push a nun out of the way of a runaway bus?”

  I shook my head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the weight of her stare. “No.”

  “Really, Eileen.” Grandma rolled her eyes at her friend as she waved her champagne glass. “You know the MacLeods are famous for community service.”

  I thought I saw smoke shooting out of Eileen’s narrowed gaze. “Was that it, then? A lot of community service?”

  I shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly wishing I had another slice of cheesecake to erase my unease. “Uhhh… not really.”

  She leaned forward, too forward, looking into my eyes as if she was trying to see through me. “How'd you die?”

  I shrugged and averted my gaze. “I electrocuted myself.”

  “Wow. That must have hurt. Who did you save?”

  “Nobody.” I practically squeaked my response. “I was alone.”

  Eileen made this terrible gagging, snorting sound. For a moment, I thought she was vomiting up cheesecake. “It took me thirty years of kissing ass in Purgatory to get here, and I was a volunteer for the Red Cross on Earth.” She waved a hand at me and sneered. “I think the Big Guy made a mistake.”

  My limbs iced over as I looked to my grandma with wide eyes. “I didn't think He made mistakes.”

  “He doesn't….” She flashed a half-hearted smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Usually.”

  My heart hit the floor and then took off at a race. “Do you think He made a mistake? Am I going to be sent to Purgatory?”

  “No.” Grandma patted my hand. “I'm sure if He’d made a mistake, He would have realized it by now.” Despite her sweet, soothing voice, I thought I sensed an undertone of worry.

  “Come on, Will,” Eileen said in a huff as she left the party without a backward glance. Her obedient boy-toy set down his glass of punch and followed at her heels.

  “Don’t mind her. She’s too uptight.” Grandma squeezed my shoulder, and this time there was no mistaking the pity in her gaze.

  Uncle Mikey cleared his throat before tossing the contents of his champagne glass down his throat. “She’s always been jealous of our family. Just ignore her. I’m sure you deserve to be here. You’re a MacLeod, after all,” he said with a wink before tapping me on the chin.

  I couldn’t help but smile back at my sweet uncle. I just hoped he was right.

  My valet had already relieved me of my empty pie plate after making several attempts to refill it. I’d been waiting for quite some time for my stomach to revolt after eating all that gluten, but so far I hadn’t had so much as the tiniest fart. Good thing, too. Passing gas at parties was tricky. I could usually go stand by the drunkest guy in the room and try to blame the smell on him, but there was always the chance my flatulence would have sound, or even worse, substance. Kind of hard to blame the odor on Chuck, the annoying paralegal from the third floor who was always trying to pilfer my Post-its and ball point pens, when irrefutable evidence was running dow
n the back of my tights.

  But pilfering paralegals and poopy pantyhose was obviously last on my Swede’s mind. He kept flashing me those bedroom eyes from across the room, making my internal temperature soar and my magic spots tingle.

  “Nice choice.” Uncle Mikey elbowed me in the ribs. “You must have had a thing for blonds.”

  I cast a surreptitious glance at my Swede. “Um… maybe?” So why couldn’t I get the image of Grim’s dark hair and even darker scowl out of my mind?

  When my Swede caught me staring at him, he licked his full, sensual lips and tipped his champagne glass.

  I turned away, flushing ten shades of red. I was still trying to figure out who or what he was and how he’d gotten here.

  “Your valets are custom-made to suit your tastes,” Grandma said as if she sensed my unease.

  I felt the Swede’s penetrating gaze boring into my skull. What was it about the guy that frightened and excited me at the same time?

  I made a face. “You make him sound like a handbag.”

  “Honey,” Grandma said as she broke into a wide grin, “he can be anything you want him to be.” She crooked a finger at her hunk, a handsome young man who could have passed as my Swede’s brother. He set down his glass and moved toward us like a tiger stalking his prey, his gaze locked on my grandmother’s.

  My jaw dropped when I witnessed his transformation. In the blink of an eye, the baby-faced blond turned into a chiseled brunette in a sailor uniform. I recognized the square jaw, wide smile and bright green eyes. That man was my Grandpa Frank.

  “Grandpa!” I squealed as I threw out my arms.

  Uncle Mikey grabbed my shoulder, holding me back as Grandma sauntered into his embrace and gave him a big peck on the lips. “That’s not Grandpa,” he whispered.

  I turned to him. “I don’t understand.”

  Mikey heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Grandpa is still stuck on the tenth floor, and at the rate he earns credits, he’ll be there for a long time.”

  “Huh?”

  Mikey laughed and shook his head. “Never mind. Purgatory stuff. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “So Grandpa didn’t make it into Heaven? He was the best Grandpa ever.” I still had fond memories of him giving me a dollar every time I retrieved beer for him out of the fridge. Needless to say, my pockets were always stuffed whenever I visited my grandparents’ house.

  “Ash.” Uncle Mikey heaved a sigh as he folded his hands in front of him. “How do I put this gently?”

  “My husband was an ass of the highest order.” Grandma strolled up to us, hand-in-hand with the valet, who looked like my granddad from his youth. “But God bless the bastard, I loved him.” She swept a hand to her heart. “I love him still.”

  My chest tightened as I looked from my grandma to my uncle for some sort of reassurance. “So he’s not allowed to be with us?”

  “Oh, he’ll get here eventually.” Grandma laughed as she swatted the air between us with her champagne glass, sloshing the beverage onto the tiles. “He’s just taking a detour.”

  “Don’t you miss him?” I waved at the hunk still holding my grandma’s hand. Other than the somewhat vacant look in his eyes, he reminded me too much of Grandpa Frank. “I mean, I know you’ve got your valet, but it’s not the same, right?”

  Grandma shrugged. “No, it’s not the same, but don’t worry, we get conjugal visits every weekend.”

  I arched a brow. “So he gets into Heaven on weekends?”

  My heart sank when my grandma and uncle burst into raucous laughter.

  “Oh, no dear,” Grandma said as she downed what was left of her champagne. “He can’t come up here, but I can visit him down below.” She made a big show of pointing at her feet and pulling a face, as if whatever was down there was filthier than sewage.

  I remembered the pool filled with sludge and the awful smell when Grim and I had dropped off Stan in Purgatory. I shuddered to think what kind of afterlife my grandpa was forced to endure.

  I didn’t understand how my grandma could be living it up in Heaven, while her husband was stuck in the slums.

  “What do you do the other five days a week?” I was unable to keep the note of accusation out of my voice.

  She turned from me and unbuttoned the top of her valet’s navy uniform, running a hand over his hairy chest. “Do you have to ask?” she said with a wink.

  Ewww. So my grandma fucked fake grandpa while real grandpa was stuck on the tenth floor? Didn’t she feel any guilt?

  “And it’s not a sin?” I waved a hand toward her valet, who had his hand on my grandma’s ass. “I mean, he’s not your husband.”

  Grandma whispered something in fake grandpa’s ear and then he disappeared with a poof. What was it with the poofing valets? She turned to me with a scowl, jabbing me in the chest with the rim of her glass. “Something you need to understand about valets. They’re not real people.”

  I threw up my hands. “What are they?”

  “Fantasies.” My uncle tapped his forehead. “They come from in here.”

  My jaw dropped. “So I created my valet?”

  His eyes clouded over as he licked his lower lip. “Yes, and he’s here to fulfil your every desire. He’ll be any man you want him to be.”

  “I’m not sure about this.” I cast another nervous glance at the Swede.

  Dear God, the look he shot me could have melted lead.

  I fisted my hands as a million butterflies fluttered in my chest. A tall, blond, and beautiful man clearly wanted to bed me, and after a year of no sex, I was getting cold feet? What was the matter with me? And though somewhere deep in my subconscious, I suspected I knew the answer, I was afraid to admit it. I knew sex with the Swede would be incredible, but I wanted Grim.

  My grandma and uncle left me alone with the Swede after they explained to me that this incredible apartment with the tall bay windows, tile floors, and sleek, open-concept kitchen, was mine. Yeah, mine. A four thousand square foot penthouse overlooking what they said was Heaven’s version of the Puget Sound. Everyone in Heaven got to live in their dream home. Grandma said hers was a Victorian mansion. Uncle Mikey’s was a high-rise apartment with its own rooftop atrium. I couldn’t wait to see their digs when they came for me tomorrow. In the meantime, what to do with the six-foot-four piece of beefcake. Four thousand square feet felt a lot smaller with a Nordic God hogging up my sunken living room.

  He was sipping champagne by the fireplace, the light radiating from the flames illuminating his chiseled features to perfection. I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do with him. Leave him on the sofa and go to bed? We’d only just met, even though technically he’d been inside my head all my life. He was just a figment of my imagination, right? This was all so confusing.

  The Swede turned to me. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he set his glass on the table and beckoned me to him with a crook of the finger.

  Did I dare obey his command? Did I dare not obey his command? A year of no sex was an awfully long time.

  I had no idea what force of magic propelled my feet forward, but I went to him, drawn to his heated gaze like a moth to a flame.

  I sat on the sofa beside him, pleased at how soft and supple the leather padding felt beneath my bare legs. I ran my fingers down the smooth fabric, remembering having seen a similar sofa at the furniture store last month when I’d gone with my coworkers, Ginelle and Jacklynn, to pick out sectionals for their apartments. They worked for a much more successful lawyer, one who wasn’t a skinflint, so they could actually afford a sectional. Most of my furniture was hand-me-downs, stuff my mom had recovered from friends’ basements and second-hand stores.

  Now, all of my furniture was beautiful and new, and I didn’t need my grandma’s old throw to cover up cigarette burns or ketchup stains.

  The Swede cleared his throat as he moved closer, so close my bare thigh grazed his stonewashed denim.

  Stonewashed denim! But the Swede had been wearing khakis. I ga
sped as my gaze flew to his crystal blue eyes. I’d been so absorbed in my furniture, I hadn’t even noticed my blond Nordic god was now a dark-haired Grim.

  “You!” I pointed a shaky finger, scooting back until my butt was pushed against the armrest.

  To my dismay, Grim followed, coming so close, I fought the urge to climb off the sofa and make a run for it.

  “Don’t be frightened, Ash,” he cooed as he stroked my arm with a thick finger. “I’m your valet, remember?”

  Dear God, his touch still had the same effect. The desire that coursed through my veins was so potent, I felt drunk with need. I fought the urge to lose myself in the pools of lust swimming beneath his eyes, but when I averted my gaze, I was unfortunately drawn to the swelling boner beneath his tight denim.

  Holy heck. It’s going to be a long night.

  “But why were you a blond a minute ago?” I asked, despite the tightening in my chest and the rapid beating of my heart pounding out a drum in my ears.

  He leaned forward, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. His rich woodsy scent encompassed me, wrapping my senses in a warm embrace. When he traced a line down my jaw and neck, I instinctively squeezed my thighs shut. Too late. My panties were already pooling with moisture.

  “I was holding back. I sensed you were scared. Admit it, Ash,” he said on a low growl. “You’ve wanted me to take on this form all along.”

  “This is just so weird,” I said, numbly, as if someone else was speaking for me. Technically, my valet was a product of my imagination, so why did the guy heating up my personal space feel so real? Lust had fried my brain by this point, and I so badly wanted to know if that bulge beneath his zipper was more than just a fantasy.

  “You’ll get used to it.” He batted his thick, dark lashes before biting on his lower lip. “I promise,” he added in that sexy southern drawl.

  “You promise?” I breathed. “You even act like Grim.”