Drop Dead Sexy

Eric didn’t agree. Well, he didn’t disagree either. He just kept lying there on top of me.

After a few more seconds passed, I cleared my throat. “Um, babe, would you mind rolling over. You’re kinda heavy.”

When he still didn’t respond, I brought my arms to his shoulders and shook him. “Eric?”

Okay, either he had sex-induced narcolepsy, or something was wrong. Like bad wrong. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed him off of me, which in turn pushed him out of me. He flopped over on the mattress like a fish out of water complete with the glassy eyes and wide, gaping mouth.

Bile and panic simultaneously rose in my throat. “No. Oh God no,” I murmured.

I quickly rose up and slapped his face. Hard. “Eric, you better be teasing me!”

When he didn’t respond, I grabbed his wrist to feel for a pulse. I couldn’t find one. The tears clouding my eyes momentarily blinded me. I needed help. I scrambled off of Eric. My gaze frantically spun around the room as I tried to find my phone. Once I did, I called 911.

Unlike with Jesse, what happened following that call is mostly a blur. I remember the words Coronary Artery Anomalies. It was what the autopsy determined. After all, a healthy, thirty-year-old man’s heart shouldn’t give out. But Eric’s had. Since the condition was worsened by exercise, he could have died during his morning jog. But no, he had to die on me. Literally.

He came, and then he went, which left me with a hell of a lot of fear and guilt. And it’s that pathetically sad relationship history that has led me to this very moment. Well, I guess you could say it was more like my man-starved vagina had led me to this moment, or better yet, led me to the man who got me involved in all this craziness.

Catcher fucking Mains—the man with ocean-blue, bedroom eyes, a body to die for, and a drop-dead sexy smile.

Craning my neck, I glared at him over my shoulder. If I managed to get out of this situation alive, I wasn’t sure if I was going to kill him or screw him. It was a toss-up.





After the minister spoke the final words of Mr. Garett Brown’s eulogy, I made my way down the carpeted aisle. As the soft organ music piped in via the overhead speakers reached an emotional crescendo, I turned to face the mourners packed into the padded chapel pews. Appearing like a cross between a Miss America and an air traffic controller, I slowly lifted my arms to guide the crowd to rise from their seats. Once everyone was on their feet, I motioned for the family to begin exiting their pew.

As crazy as it might sound, there was a true art to presiding over a funeral. It was just one of the many things I had learned over the years from observing my late father and grandfather. As my grandfather had once said, “Run a funeral like a side show, and you’ll be out of business.” People were inevitably drawn to pomp and pageantry. Even though their loved one might have been a pauper, they wanted the same gallantry afforded to the funeral as a king or president’s.

My grandfather had opened Sullivan’s Funeral Home in 1955, and it had been a family operation ever since. Since I came from a large, extended family, everyone from aunts, uncles, and cousins pitched in from time to time. Growing up in a funeral home wasn’t all death and sadness. I had a lot of happy, lively memories under this roof. I used to play hide and seek with my younger brother, Allen, where one of us would always end up wedged behind a casket to hide out. I’d spent hours laid out on the chapel’s padded benches reading the newest Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High books. My house had always been filled with people. I had learned at an early age to work a crowd, and my father had me helping out with viewings and services by the time I turned thirteen. “Livvie has the gift,” he would say with pride sparkling in his brown eyes.

The memory of my father sent an ache through my chest. He had died five years ago after a very short battle with pancreatic cancer. Although I had experienced personal loss with grandparents and other family members, it was my father’s death that had brought true understanding and empathy for what other families were experiencing. It wasn’t often that you got to meet your real life hero, but I had been blessed to have him for a father.