Johnny Angel

Chapter One

Death by Gingerbread

Sofia Willoughby choked to death on a mouthful of gingerbread the day before Christmas Eve.

It occurred to her this was not how she’d planned to go out. Of course, she hadn’t planned the extra fifteen pounds on her ass either, but such was the way of Fate and men. Even those of the gingerbread sort.  

She clawed at the table for her cell phone, but the lack of air made it difficult for her to control her fingers.
Sofia was comforted by the fact she didn’t have any pets—they wouldn’t be using her dead body as a buffet when the landlord finally came to investigate the god-awful stench coming from 13C.

The circumstances of her death stung more than the choking and that was saying quite a bit considering it hurt like hell.
Sofia was alone, with cheeks crammed full like a squirrel gathering for the winter. There’d actually been enough in her chops to feed two squirrel families for the entirety of the cold season in Siberia. Yes, a mouth crammed full of gingerbread, no make-up, plushy snowman slippers on her unpedicured feet and a DVR player full of Christmas romances to be watched alone. Pitiful.

A pair of worn Doc Martens came into view and
Sofia thought for a moment she’d been saved! The pressure on her chest ceased and the oddest sensation tingled through her.

Until she realized she wasn’t looking at the Docs anymore, but her own gingerbread padded ass. Yep. Sofia Willoughby was officially, unequivocally, and eternally dead.

Wasn’t that just a bitch?

She supposed it didn’t matter much; she hadn’t scheduled anything else for the next year. Work, night school and weekends at home with her face buried in an ice cream trough. Sophie didn’t see how that was going to change in the foreseeable future and she should count her lucky stars she’d died before she put on any more weight. She had horrible visions of being cut out of her apartment and lifted down to an ambulance on a crane while still stuffing pastries in her mouth…

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” a deep voice asked her.

She couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but screw him. What did he know about it? “No. Do you see the way my ass looks in those pants? It’s like dueling cantaloupes.”

“I like how your ass looks in those pants,” he said as if he were admiring a work of art in the Louvre rather than her rear.

“Are you the Devil?”
Sofia demanded. He had to be, who else would take such glee in her misery and the roundness of her gingerbread stuffed hind parts? Then there was the whole showing up as she’d died thing. Not a good sign.

“Not by a long shot. Now, stop wallowing and get back in your body. You’re not done yet.”

“What happened to go gently into the light?”

“Fuck that.” He snorted.

Sofia found herself slammed rather unceremoniously back into her body. She was still choking. God, it felt like she’d tried to stuff a chocolate-covered porcupine down her throat. Sofia coughed and horked, working the thing up her throat until finally it erupted from her mouth in lumpy 3D humiliation.

She discovered that those Docs she’d seen after kicking the proverbial bucket hadn’t been some near death hallucination because she spat her mangled ball of gingerbread all over them.

“Really, Sofia? I just had them shined,” he growled.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up, her watery eyes barely focusing on the strange man in her apartment. The first thing she noticed was that he had hair that reminded her of John Travlota in
Grease
. In fact, everything about him reminded her of that movie. The way he dressed, the black t-shirt with the pack of Marlboros rolled up in his sleeve, the chain on his wallet, the way his jeans were rolled up. His shoes weren’t Docs after all, but some other kind of boot she didn’t recognize.

She also noticed he was huge. Shoulders like a linebacker and the rest of his body could have been carved out of stone. The stranger had a face that could have belonged to any model, with hard, angular planes and black-fringed eyes that weren’t quite green, but weren’t blue either. He was so hot, she was sure something in the immediate vicinity would melt. Most likely her knickers.

And his tattoos. They belied the semi-wholesomeness portrayed in the film. There was a topless Bettie Page on his bicep wearing a Santa hat and what on first glance had appeared to barbed-wire around the bottom of his bicep was in actuality Christmas lights twined around barbed-wire. What was next a flaming reindeer skull on his back with a banner that said “Mother?”

He was still hot and she was probably still hallucinating.

Too bad she had to die to get a man in her apartment. Sofia wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover he was simply a figment of her imagination. After all, what man really had eyes like that? She must be high.

“Back to your old self, then?” he demanded, a blue-black brow arching with his question.

“No, you’re still here.”

“You didn’t scream, that’s good.” The man nodded his approval.

“Why would I scream? And my throat’s sore anyway. Choking on a gingerbread man will do that to you. So assuming this isn’t a hallucination, who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?” She asked this as if there was going to be some acceptable answer that didn’t end in crazy. She’d been dead. He’d shoved her back in her body. But that wasn’t even the most unbelievable part. He was hot and he was standing in
her
apartment. That was full-on Santa Claus territory.

He crouched down on the balls of his feet and he was almost eye level with her. “My name is Johnny Gallo. And I’m your Clarence.”

“I thought you said your name was Johnny?”

“You’ve been watching Christmas movies all week, right?
It’s A Wonderful Life
? Yeah. Clarence. The almost angel who has to help someone to earn his wings.”

             
She raised a brow and her nose wrinkled. “You’re an angel? I’m going to have to call bullshit on that one, sir.”

             
He sighed as if she were the dumbest of all creatures. “You weren’t listening, Sofia. I’m not an angel yet. In fact, helping you? That’ll just keep me from taking a trip downtown if you know what I mean. I’ve got a long way before I can earn my wings. I was…” he sighed again, “
am
a bit of bastard.”

             
Laughter bubbled up and she surrendered to it, honking like an angry goose. “This has to be real. Only in my life would this happen. I get a self-admitted bastard angel who’s on the fast track to Hell and
he’s
supposed to help
me
? You can’t even help yourself. I think I’ll just take the white light and the harp now, thanks.”

             
His eyes rolled heavenward. “See?
See?
” he demanded of the ceiling. “I’m honest and this is what I get. And You wonder why I don’t want to do it. I wasn’t cut out for this angel gig.”

             
Sofia remembered what he’d said about going downtown. If he didn’t help her, he’d go straight to the Devil. She exhaled heavily. She couldn’t have that on her conscience.

             
A tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that he was paying for his actions in life. If he went to warmer climes, it was what he’d earned. Regardless, of that, it couldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say. Could it? They were just words, but Sofia knew firsthand that words could be sharper than any sword.

             
“So Angel-boy, if I help you get your wings, what do I get out of it?”

             
“A happy, fulfilled life?”

             
“Something more immediate, I think. I’m still not buying that you’ll be able to help me improve my circumstances. You want to go all Ghost of Christmas Past, you’ll see there weren’t any memories worth keeping.”

             
“I’m dead. I can’t give you anything. If you want winning lotto numbers, that’s another department. I’m in Christmas.” He shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

             
“Yes, you can. I want one favor.”

             
“Again, open-ended deals are another department. Downstairs.”

             
“Not from your
department
, Angel-boy. You. Personally.”

             
“I’m not authorized—” The lights on the Christmas tree in the corner suddenly blazed to life. “Fine. One favor,” he agreed.

             
Sofia knew she was going to regret this. She knew it as sure as all that gingerbread was going to give her a pimple on her chin. Because she hadn’t really wanted a favor. She wanted one night with him. Sofia didn’t want to die a virgin, but it seemed a little sacrilegious to demand sex from an angel. Even if he didn’t have the wings just yet. That would probably earn her a spot “downtown” as well.

             
“Deal. So what do I have to do now?” She rubbed her hands together, ready to dig in to the task at hand.