Why would that suddenly change because she was an “accidental” angel?
Still, what choice did he have?
Choices aside, before he did anything else, he had to tell her who he really was and convince her he was actually an honest-to-goodness angel.
That was always a party.
Worse, he had to do it under the radar of the crew upstairs so they wouldn’t find out she existed until Titus could squeeze her in somewhere she wouldn’t be noticed.
Then, on top of everything else, he had to teach her how to be an angel.
And he had to do it before his time ran out or he was going to lose the privilege of being a guardian and instead, become a janitor.
As in, clean toilets.
Every day.
All day.
Chapter 2
“Do you believe me now?” Dexter looked at George, who currently sat on his friend Marty’s tufted beige couch, holding a throw pillow in her lap.
George blinked at handsome Dex, who was no longer the Dex she worked with and had seen every day at the coffee shop in the cute little senior living village she worked for as events coordinator.
No. He wasn’t that Dex at all. He said he was Dex the angel, who’d been charged with keeping her safe for almost a year. Her guardian angel…
Which was lovely and kinda nice. Who didn’t want to know someone from on high was watching out for them?
If you believed in that sort of stuff, that is.
But when George wasn’t totally convinced what he was telling her was true, when she’d scoffed and giggled hysterically from her couch, where he’d taken her after he claimed she’d “fallen” off the rooftop at a New Year’s Eve party (tripped right over a Schlitz Malt Liquor bottle, he said. Unfortunately, that part of his outlandish tale, she totally believed), he’d shown her he was an angel.
Boy, had he shown her. Man, she’d seen. Yes. Yes, she had.
He’d lit himself up like a Christmas tree, all glowing with a pulsing white light around him—a warm, welcoming, breathtaking light that, if possible, made him even more swoon-worthy than he’d been when she thought he was a mere mortal like the rest of ’em.
Then he’d unfurled his strap-on wings, wings not nearly as big as she’d expected them to be; nor had she expected them to appear out of nowhere when he snapped his fingers, but they’d appeared out of nowhere regardless and he’d had to physically put them on.
She’d found the idea of strap-on wings ludicrous. In fact, she remembered giggling a little harder.
Dex said they almost always weren’t necessary. Showing people your angel glow should be enough to prove what you were, but sometimes, the wings made a broader, more convincing point. So he liked to have them as a just-in-case, and it was important she know how to summon them for just that reason.
Thus, he’d slung those wings over his broad shoulders, which only added another complex layer to the onion of a story he was pedaling.
Fluffy, feathery, white as newly fallen snow angel wings.
When she’d laughingly dared him to prove it, and he’d actually produced those strap-on wings, she’d expected them to be like the ones Tom Ellis had on the Netflix show Lucifer. But they weren’t quite that impressive, and he seemed almost disappointed she wasn’t more enraptured.
What kind of rinky-dink show were they running upstairs anyway? Who had strap-on wings?
Though, she had to admit, Dex was probably as handsome as Tom Ellis, the actor who played Lucifer, with his midnight-black hair, deep chocolate eyes, tightly angled face and kissable lips. He was very attractive and, as it happened, not gay after all.
Another huh for the books.
That confession had made George pause. She’d spent months reminding herself he was gay anytime they were together so on top of the million stupid things she’d already done in her lifetime, she wouldn’t fall in love with a guy who wasn’t available to her.
Despite the strong pull of her initial attraction, when she’d made a presumption, she’d managed to keep her desires in check. For once in her life, she’d avoided making a complete ass of herself, all to find out he was straight.
Not that it mattered. Angels didn’t date. Or did they? Either way, it didn’t matter. Her life was a dumpster fire. Dating was the last thing she should consider, especially after Darren, and she’d never want to ruin her perfectly good friendship with Dex by dragging sex into the mix anyway.
That never failed to ruin everything for her.
Anyway, that’s what she got for binge watching too much television. An obviously unrealistic expectation of what an angel’s wings looked like—or that they might actually be attached to his body.
The moment he’d hauled those beastly feathers over his broad shoulders had been awkward with a capital strange. She didn’t understand why he had strap-on wings or if that was significant at all in the scheme of things. Maybe they all had strap-on wings and movies and television had it all wrong.
That aside, Dex then set about trying to convince her it wasn’t just him who was an angel. She was an angel, too.
Of all the things he’d told her that had given her pause, this was the most pause-ish of them all.
She, too, was an angel.
To which she’d yelped a rousing, “Hah!” before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
Now, due to her skepticism, here they sat, at Dex’s paranormal buddy Marty Flaherty’s amazing and sprawling mini-mansion slash farmhouse, with her gorgeous paranormal friends, on her puffy beige sectional couch, after putting on a show like no other, waiting to see if George was going to have a meltdown.
Yet still, she couldn’t summon up an ounce of surprise, and even she didn’t understand what was going on with her or why she didn’t
