Drop Dead Sexy(8)

“Whatever. I knew they were going to be trouble after you told me how the wife wore all those diamonds but tried to be a cheapshit when it came to the casket and vault. I’m just glad you got to say ‘Bye Felicia’ to that epic twatwaffle.”

I laughed. “You know as well as I do that it isn’t truly over until the bill is paid.” I put the cap back on the lotion and went over to the sink to wash my hands. I threw a glance at Jill over my shoulder. “Will you go remind Allen that he’s in charge of the Laughton viewing since Mama and I will be gone?”

“Sure will.”

“Thanks. I need to run on home and get ready.”

“Why don’t I come with you and do your hair and makeup?” Jill suggested.

“Do you really think that’s necessary? It’s not like I’m going clubbing.”

“But you could after the shower. After all, there will be a fresh crop of men up there.” When I started to protest, Jill shook her head. “Men who know nothing about your sexual history. Men who you don’t ever have to see again after you’ve taken their dick for a spin.”

I couldn’t help snorting at Jill’s summation. She did have a point. My mother’s shower was being held at her best friend’s cabin an hour away. The cabin was way up in the mountains and almost on the Georgia/Tennessee border. I didn’t know a single soul from there. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have clubs up there.”

“Maybe not, but I sure as hell bet they have a bar.” Jill waggled her auburn-colored brows. “You could find someone to help end your sex drought.”

As I dried my hands, I considered what Jill was suggesting. The irrational side of me thought it made perfect sense. Of course, I very rarely listened to my irrational side. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Liv. You swore that you would end the drought before your thirtieth birthday, and now you’re two months over and still nada.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“So do something about it before you end up with a plastic yeast infection from your vibrator.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Um, ew.”

Jill laughed. “Sorry. But you know me. I tell it like it is.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m coming home with you to do your hair and makeup.” At what must’ve been the wounded look in my eyes, she added, “Not that you don’t do a great job yourself. It’s just you need something special for tonight.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Then I’ll pick you out something sexy that you can change into when you leave the shower.”

“You aren’t coming along on the manhunt?”

Jill shook her head. “Chase is coming by at nine. I’ve been instructed to be wearing nothing but my black hooker heels.”

Chase was Jill’s on-and-off again boyfriend. Well, he was actually her ex-husband, but they just couldn’t seem to quit each other. It wouldn’t surprise me one day if she called in from Vegas to tell me they’d gotten remarried.

My rational side began arguing how dangerous it was to go out alone, but then I tried reminding it that I carried a gun and had been through self-defense training. I would make sure to only have one drink to calm my nerves and to make sure I didn’t accept anything to drink from a man.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

Jill’s green eyes widened. “Oh. My. God. Really?”

I laughed. “Yes, really.”

She squealed and threw her arms around me. “You’ve just made my day, Livvie!”

“I’m so glad that me having sex with a stranger makes your day.”

Jill pulled back and winked at me. “You getting some for the first time in almost seven years is enough to make more than my day. Hell, it makes my week.”

With a shake of my head, I pulled out of her embrace. “Come on. We need to get going.”

In a sing-song voice, Jill said, “Olivia’s gonna get some dick!”

Oh, lord. It was going to be a long, long night.





I’m pretty sure when Dante penned The Inferno with its nine levels of Hell, he couldn’t fathom such horror as I currently found myself in. I’m sure if he could have, he would have deemed it necessary to devote another level just for me—my very own tenth circle of Hell. No, I wasn’t frozen in a lake of ice or encapsulated in flaming tombs. Instead, I was being forced to watch my fifty-seven-year-old mother unwrap gifts of heat-activated body oils, edible underwear, and toys of the vibrating nature. No one, and I sure as hell mean no one, should ever have to imagine their mother using such things, least of all see them in her hands while she flushed crimson and giggled like a school girl.

“Won’t Harry look sexy in these?” she asked, holding up a pair of bikini briefs in one hand while fanning herself with the other.

At that moment, I literally threw up in my mouth some of the decorative penis cake I had just eaten (Instead of the typical icing flower, I’d ingested part of the balls). The sugary bits of scrotum burned my throat. I realized then that regardless of how much of an asset he was to the funeral home, I was going to have to fire my future stepfather. There was simply no way in hell I could successfully embalm a body across from him while imagining him sporting red bikini briefs under his work apron. Come to think of it, I could never hand off an Anal/Vaginal plug to him without wondering if he had actually used the “Fun Factory Booty” butt plug my mother’s oldest friend had given her.