My middle name.
Saint Peter turned to me. “I’ll bet you anything,” he said with a wicked grin on his face, “You can get her, easy. Look like that one, she’ll be a pushover.”
“Twenty bucks?” I asked. “Nah. She’ll freak. They usually do.”
He held out his hand. “Don’t think so. This one is special. Deal. Twenty bucks. Shake."
“I’m a witness,” stated God. He had gone very quiet in the past few minutes.
“Deal.” We shook.
The door opened, and in came Sophia, her expectation plain on her face. “So.” She sat down on the sofa, pushed me softly with her fist. “Have you made your decision yet?”
I thought of that face, that circus convention in those eyes. Blonde. Rock chick. DDs, probably. I wasn’t complaining. Trouble, definitely.