• Kiss Me Like You Love Me

    If you ask Mikey Goretti, he’ll tell you that life sucks. Wife left him, crappy jobs, nothing ever goes the way it should. How did a nice boy from a God-fearing family go so terribly wrong? He’s a people person! He loves people, especially girls. If Mikey loves girls so much–why do the girls he meets never seem to make it home? This tale of a serial killer, his best friend, and a heavenly Angel promises to disturb, horrify, and amuse–that is if you can see past all the Red.

    Reviews for Kiss Me Like You Love Me

    “…a fast, gripping read that will make you look askew at everyone you know.”
    – A. Brandt, Ann Arbor, MI

    “Kiss Me Like You Love Me had me from the Narrator’s first line…I could not stop reading until I was done.”
    – Dan Martin, WAAM Radio

    “In a fresh and original voice, Wednesday Lee Friday gives readers a look into the life of a disillusioned serial killer from the perspectives of key characters involved in his life. I found myself drawn in by her realistic sense of humor, casual writing style, and insight into those time-honored words of wisdom we’ve all heard…and sometimes understood. Her strong characterization and flow of perspective made this a book difficult to put down. While not entirely grammatically correct, Friday’s accessible style of writing, down-to-earth references, and genuine opinions make this book worth a read.”
    – Cats ‘N Books

    “Goddamn Good!”
    – James L Grant –Author, and co-creator of “Two Lumps”

    “This is Mikey’s story and the tapestry of his life is woven both through his own words and through the recollections of those who thought they knew him…”Kiss Me Like You Love Me” is Wednesday Lee Friday’s third novel and, not to put too fine a point on it, it is a tour-de-force. “Kiss Me Like You Love Me” is an ambitious book and a compulsively readable one (I burned through all two hundred and forty so pages in five hours); and if there’s been a more convincing fictional evocation of a homicidally divergent mind published, then I’ve yet to read it. Wednesday Lee Friday has a vital, vibrant and visceral talent and I can’t wait to see where she goes next.”
    – DarkLordZen, Amazon.UK

    “One would think the story of a serial killer would be dull and ordinary; butKiss Me Like You Love Me is anything but. It’s filled with interesting plots and background stories told in a way that draws you in. And you can’t leave a chapter half way through like other books. No. You need to finish the chapter. Get it. You’ll like it.” Read the full review here.
    – The Lonely Reviewer



    Chapter One

    (Our Narrator)

    Dropped on the Head

    They say if you get dropped on the head as a baby, you’ll never be right again.  It used to be a joke, don’t know if it still is, but when somebody does something stupid or shocking somebody might say, “What?  D’ja get dropped on the head when you were a baby?”  Everyone would laugh and think it was such a stitch, except the poor guy who may or may not have had his little baby head smacked in by linoleum or parquet or whatever they make floors out of these days.

    Point is, if anyone said that joke to Mikey, they’d probably get a punch in the head.  Having been dropped more than once as a baby, he doesn’t find that joke funny in the slightest.  Or at least he didn’t when I knew him.  He might now.  Mikey’s changed a lot since the days when I knew him, around the neighborhood.  We were pretty tight for a while, but not so much anymore.  I guess that’s why I never saw any of this coming.

    Usually when you tell a story about someone, you start with their birth or maybe when you met them.  In Mikey’s case, though, neither of those will work.  I’ve known Mikey forever; he’s always been there.  Our moms were friendly for a time when we were little.  My mom thought Mikey’s mom was “a little fruity,” as she put it.  That day I do remember.  I was standing there in Toughskin jeans with reinforced knees, feeling as sad as I can ever remember.  My Mom told me I couldn’t play at Mikey’s house anymore.  Apparently Mrs. Goretti had said something terrible, something that made the whole town turn against her.  She said she knew better than Pastor.  Nobody knew better than Pastor Simms.

    My mom said we were a good Christian family and that it would be “wrong to exclude the boy.”  That meant Mikey could still come over and play at my house; I just couldn’t go over there.

    Mikey, unlike his Mama, quoted Pastor at every opportunity.  My mom said he was the most obedient boy she had ever met, and even said I would do well to take a page out of Mikey’s book.  I didn’t really know what that meant at the time, since Mikey never had much in the way of books.  I knew she didn’t mean his Bible, and as far as I knew, the Bible and schoolbooks were the only books Mikey was allowed to read.  He kept those magazines, but he hid them.  Later on I figured it out.  My mom just wanted me to be more like Mikey and do what he did.  Ha!

    Mom was around for the fire, though.  That was terrible.  We had Fire Safety Week at Sunday school.  I think I was in second grade, maybe third.  Mikey didn’t go to school with everyone else, only Sunday school.  They taught us about family fire drills, and the importance of smoke detectors, and how to properly call 911.  They had just started 911 back then, and people didn’t really know how to do it properly.

    Mikey came back to church and said his family did practice fire drills.  They had a meeting place outside, so they’d know if everyone got out of the house.  He said he’d put new batteries in all the smoke detectors, and that they had a new fire extinguisher for the kitchen.  Teacher gave him a gold star.  I didn’t get one.  My mom said that kind of planning was for hysterics afraid of their own shadows.  She said if you were careful, no fires would ever happen.  People used to say that a lot back then.  Turned out, Mikey’s family didn’t really do anything for fire safety.  Mikey made it all up.

    Later there was a big commotion, with lights and police and fire trucks, outside Mikey’s house.  His dad was gone by then and it was just Mikey and his mom and sister.  Jeanette was three years older than Mikey, and sometimes acted more like a mom than a sister.  She was in her bathrobe with her hair wrapped up in a towel when the fire happened, and everybody ran outside to see what was going on.  Jeanette was really embarrassed and didn’t want anyone seeing what she called her nudity.  She was far from naked in her long bathrobe, but if you looked really close you could see part of a boob.

    Mikey ran through the house screaming, “FIRE!  FIRE!” and making sure his mom and sister were safe.  Nobody asked him how he knew about the fire, or how he had learned to spray the base of the fire with the extinguisher, or why he didn’t call 911.

    I asked him if he’d set the fire.  He said no.  But he never explained what had happened to the lighter I kept by my fireworks.  He said my mom must have found them.  But if she had, she’d have taken everything and not just the lighter.  Mikey had to have stolen it.

    I never told anyone about Mikey starting that fire.  Somehow I thought I’d be in as big of trouble as he’d have been.  Besides, a guy doesn’t rat on his best friend, especially if no one got hurt.  And that time no one did get hurt.  Now I know I was setting myself up for a pattern of apathy that would lead to—I’m getting ahead of myself.  Point is, I should have done something about Mikey years ago.  I didn’t.  Now I have to put it right.

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