July PNR Book of the Month
by Lulu M. Sylvian
Peter wants to fix his life, there’s one problem, he’s dead.
Peter Keith, a one-time TV sitcom star whose career dissolved from A-lister hunk, to straight-to-cable-movie D-lister has a problem. Peter regrets decisions he made in his life, and would like a do-over. And he convinces Gillian to help him.
Not fully convinced that Peter is anything more than something she made up, Gillian considers him to be a glorified imaginary friend, until her feelings for Peter complicate her relationships with the living.
How can she have a life with Peter when she cannot give him what he really needs, a resolution to the life he wasn’t ready to leave?
Dead Sexy is a Heaven Can Wait meets the new millennia romance with a surprise twist at the end.
Believe in love after life.
Here's an Excerpt
I became obsessed with Peter. He was in my dreams almost every night and on screen when I was awake. He had been so good looking. He had a chiseled face, a high brow, broad high cheek bones, square jaw tapering to a strong rounded chin. His lips were pleasantly full without being feminine. He had a straight nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end.
In my opinion, his best feature was his eyes. They were big and round and soft, a rich teddy bear brown rimmed with black lashes. I got all fuzzy when I thought about his eyes. He stood just at six feet tall, and had well defined muscles. He kept his silky-straight blonde hair a little on the long side. A classic mullet, and then, when he got a little older, the front grew a bit longer, the feathers left as did the mullet. After that, he had kept his hair mostly generic medium long and on the shaggy side.
I retro-actively developed a new crush on him. David, my dream-man, lover, boy-toy, laughed at me about it, and promptly ignored my silliness, as he should. After all, how was a crush on a dead guy going to do any harm to our rock solid relationship?
Dreams with Peter were not the typical mini-movie style of normal dreams. They felt real. I couldn’t distinguish them from an actual memory. Had they actually happened? Where was the line between dream and reality?
I sat cross legged on my bed. Peter sat next to me, he braced his feet against the floor, and gripped the edge of my mattress as if was all that kept him from leaping off into space. He was overwhelmingly sad, all slumped into himself. I didn’t know what to do for him. Pain rolled off him in tangible waves.
I stroked his back and murmured comforting sounds. I don’t know how long we sat like that. I don’t remember how we got there, but it had been the same for several nights in a row now. Sometimes, I would be tucked up under blankets, sometimes, I would sit next to him. We would sit, and though I don’t remember actually talking, we talked. Peter told me all about his life, and I told him about mine. Tonight was different, he didn’t speak.
I leaned against his back, and tried to rub the tension out of his arm. His grip was so hard I was afraid he would rip my bedding. He snatched his arm up and away from me like a cat. I let him, I didn’t want to hurt him.
“I don’t know what to do for you, Peter.” Probably a stupid thing to say, but I didn’t know what to do. My heart broke for him.
He shook his head. “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.”
I didn’t exactly know what he was talking about, and yet, I knew he meant having died. When he turned to me, his eyes were rimmed with dark pink. Full of pain and tears.
I adjusted myself on the bed and reached up to guide him down to my lap. His legs stretched out, and hung over the end of my bed. His head rested on my thigh, his breath hot against my skin. With out of focus eyes, he stared into the void.
I stroked his hair, and watched his face. Even in his sadness, he was beautiful, and large. I tried to soothe him until the texture of his shaggy hair made my fingertips go numb. Are men’s heads always so big? Why did I think the weirdest things at the most inopportune moments?
I whispered, “I’d help you if I knew what you needed.”
He rolled his face into my leg. I could feel his body quake.
I curled over him and held him the best I could. He hurt, and somehow, he found me. I felt like there was a reason for this, and I wanted to help.
I rolled over and woke with a snort. My dream of holding Peter was replaced with the reality of my bedroom in the middle of the night and David’s naked shoulder in front of me. I reached up to pet his skin. How different these two men were—one so very real, and one in so much pain.
I closed my eyes to go back to sleep. I had to remember to ask my friend Trina what she thought about tonight’s dream with Peter. She would tell me to stop analyzing everything so much and find out what the man wanted. Clearly, he wanted something. I rolled over, safe in the confidence that my best friend would not judge me for thinking I had a pet ghost of some dead actor.