his impending singlehood. I could probably tell him the truth.
“Very well, actually. She cried some pretty tears and then drove away from the funeral with that punk-ass drummer from Cold and Furious.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I hate that guy. Almost as much as I hate Nathan Vale.”
“Well, they’re happy together,” I told him. “If by ‘happy together’ you mean ‘already on the brink of a fiery breakup.’”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s a crazy bitch, man. I’m lucky I got away from her when I did.”
“You mean you’re lucky you died ?”
“No,” he said quickly, then paused before shrugging. “I guess there are fates worse than death, and ending up shackled to Tori Sinclair is one of them.”
“Even if that would have meant having a connection to Gabriel Sinclair?”
He scoffed. “If you think that buffoon has anything on me, you’re dead wrong. He’s a pompous prick.”
“A pompous prick who managed not to join the 27 Club, though,” I pointed out.
“Only because he’s too busy being a Goody Two-shoes,” he argued. “I mean, I like him. We’re friends. But that doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole. Anyway. Enough about him. Let’s talk more about me.”
“There’s the narcissist I know and love,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip from my voice like processed nacho cheese.
He laughed. “Well, anyway, I’m not particularly destroyed by Tori deciding to move on. Good for her.”
I sighed. “I wish I could do that.”
“What?” he asked, tilting his head at me. “Move on? Are you still pining over Carmen and her breasts?”
“Mostly just the breasts,” I admitted. “We weren’t really good together, but regular sex was nice. I miss that part.”
“Was it good sex? Or just regular?”
I shrugged. “It was fine. She liked to close her eyes or be blindfolded so she could pretend I was one of you guys. She even called me Eric in bed. More than once.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “On purpose?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And she got in a snit when I told her to cut it out.”
“Just Eric? Or all of us?”
“Mostly just Eric. Although she wouldn’t have kicked the rest of you out of bed. But I think she’s legitimately in love with Eric.”
Chris laughed. “Who isn’t?”
I gave him a strange look. “Me. As one example.”
“Well, good for you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I guess you must be president of that club by default since you’re probably the only fan who’s not a member of it.”
“I’m not a fan.”
He glanced around the room, resting his eyes pointedly on the posters and concert DVDs and framed autographed CD.
“I’m a casual fan,” I corrected myself. “Who unfortunately had a ridiculously obsessed girlfriend and who is too lazy to redecorate now that she’s moved out. Besides, all this got me some pretty awesome sex with a hot chick once, so who’s to say that won’t happen again?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway.” I put my omelet plate on the end table beside me and twisted around to face him. “We need a game plan.”
“A game plan for what?”
“For figuring out how to get you to heaven,” I said. “Or into whatever afterlife you’ve gained yourself entry to.”
“Oh.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “I imagine it must be heaven, right? Otherwise why am I even here? It seems really mean to give me a chance to make things right and then send me to hell anyway.”
I shrugged. “I’m not a philosopher, man.”
“Well, I figure maybe I have unfinished business,” he continued. “I mean . . . isn’t that why ghosts usually stay behind?”
“In the movies, sure,” I allowed. “But up until you showed up, I wasn’t convinced that this sort of thing was even possible, so what do I know about it?”
“Well . . .” He looked around the room again. “It’s somewhere to start, at least. Can’t hurt.”
“True. So what business do you have left?”
“There are three people I want to
“Very well, actually. She cried some pretty tears and then drove away from the funeral with that punk-ass drummer from Cold and Furious.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I hate that guy. Almost as much as I hate Nathan Vale.”
“Well, they’re happy together,” I told him. “If by ‘happy together’ you mean ‘already on the brink of a fiery breakup.’”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s a crazy bitch, man. I’m lucky I got away from her when I did.”
“You mean you’re lucky you died ?”
“No,” he said quickly, then paused before shrugging. “I guess there are fates worse than death, and ending up shackled to Tori Sinclair is one of them.”
“Even if that would have meant having a connection to Gabriel Sinclair?”
He scoffed. “If you think that buffoon has anything on me, you’re dead wrong. He’s a pompous prick.”
“A pompous prick who managed not to join the 27 Club, though,” I pointed out.
“Only because he’s too busy being a Goody Two-shoes,” he argued. “I mean, I like him. We’re friends. But that doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole. Anyway. Enough about him. Let’s talk more about me.”
“There’s the narcissist I know and love,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip from my voice like processed nacho cheese.
He laughed. “Well, anyway, I’m not particularly destroyed by Tori deciding to move on. Good for her.”
I sighed. “I wish I could do that.”
“What?” he asked, tilting his head at me. “Move on? Are you still pining over Carmen and her breasts?”
“Mostly just the breasts,” I admitted. “We weren’t really good together, but regular sex was nice. I miss that part.”
“Was it good sex? Or just regular?”
I shrugged. “It was fine. She liked to close her eyes or be blindfolded so she could pretend I was one of you guys. She even called me Eric in bed. More than once.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “On purpose?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And she got in a snit when I told her to cut it out.”
“Just Eric? Or all of us?”
“Mostly just Eric. Although she wouldn’t have kicked the rest of you out of bed. But I think she’s legitimately in love with Eric.”
Chris laughed. “Who isn’t?”
I gave him a strange look. “Me. As one example.”
“Well, good for you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I guess you must be president of that club by default since you’re probably the only fan who’s not a member of it.”
“I’m not a fan.”
He glanced around the room, resting his eyes pointedly on the posters and concert DVDs and framed autographed CD.
“I’m a casual fan,” I corrected myself. “Who unfortunately had a ridiculously obsessed girlfriend and who is too lazy to redecorate now that she’s moved out. Besides, all this got me some pretty awesome sex with a hot chick once, so who’s to say that won’t happen again?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway.” I put my omelet plate on the end table beside me and twisted around to face him. “We need a game plan.”
“A game plan for what?”
“For figuring out how to get you to heaven,” I said. “Or into whatever afterlife you’ve gained yourself entry to.”
“Oh.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “I imagine it must be heaven, right? Otherwise why am I even here? It seems really mean to give me a chance to make things right and then send me to hell anyway.”
I shrugged. “I’m not a philosopher, man.”
“Well, I figure maybe I have unfinished business,” he continued. “I mean . . . isn’t that why ghosts usually stay behind?”
“In the movies, sure,” I allowed. “But up until you showed up, I wasn’t convinced that this sort of thing was even possible, so what do I know about it?”
“Well . . .” He looked around the room again. “It’s somewhere to start, at least. Can’t hurt.”
“True. So what business do you have left?”
“There are three people I want to
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