Page 41 of Angel

I move to the music, bending and stretching, rolling my body and spreading my legs. I’ve done this routine dozens of times, so many times I could run through it in my sleep. The trick to keeping it fresh is to perform it for one person, a single audience member who is seeing it for the first time. Make it about him. Make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. Make him feel like he’s the only person who matters.

I could pick any random guy in the audience. Someone from the table of dress shirts and ties. Or the younger group who all look like they’re still in college. But the guy in my mind is big and burly, with a luxurious beard and rich body hair. He’s got a sweet, shy smile and eyes like pools of chocolate. He scratches his jaw when he’s nervous, which is often. And his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed, which is all the time.

I perform for him, for Angel, my teddy bear. And the routine flies by.

I blink as the last of the music dies, and the audience is on its feet. There should be one last rush of adrenaline at this point, the thrill of a live performance in front of an appreciative crowd. I take my bow and strut off the stage, waiting for the high to kick in. But it still hasn’t by the time I get back to the dressing room.

I drop into my chair, heart racing and fingers tingling. But there’s something missing. I feel hollow, empty. The euphoria I usually feel after performing isn’t kicking in.

I scramble for my phone, desperate for it like I need another hit. There’s a notification waiting for me, a message from Teddy Bear. I swipe the screen and it brings up a new selfie he’s sent me.

He’s sitting on a couch or in an armchair, and he’s holding his nephew in one arm. The baby is in a onesie covered in cartoon bears, thumb in his mouth, giant eyes staring straight into the camera. Angel’s got his head tilted to the side and he’s grinning into the camera too.

Teddy Bear

We’re matching! Get it? Bears! *bear emoji*

My heart swells so big in my chest that I can barely breathe. God. Fuck. I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my face into my hands. It should be illegal for anyone to be so goddamn adorable.

Then the adrenaline hits and I’m soaring. Everything is light and bright. I’m on top of the world and I can’t stop grinning.

It was just a delayed reaction, that’s all. It had nothing to do with the selfie, nothing to do with Angel’s message.

It’s fine. Everything is totally fine.

Right.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

ANGEL

Wednesday night is Mama’s weekly cards night with the neighborhood ladies. So when Sabrina made plans to go out with her girlfriends, she just assumed that I would be around to babysit. It was midmorning by the time she texted me at work, “reminding” me that I had to look after Jonah.

For a split second, I considered telling her no. I’d already agreed to go to The Bronzed Rail to watch Rhys dance. Why should I have to cancel my plans when Sabrina’s the one who didn’t ask me ahead of time?

But then I’d have to explain why I wouldn’t be home on a weeknight and I don’t think I’m ready to do that. Not that there’s really anything to explain. I’m certainly not telling Sabrina or Mama that I did gay porn. And there’s nothing wrong with going to a nightclub—they don’t have to know it’s a gay one.

Still, I’m a terrible liar. Even the thought of lying by omission gives me the sweats. So babysitting it is.

I don’t really mind hanging out with Jonah. As long as he’s not crying, he’s a really cool baby. I even got to put him in that cute bear onesie after I gave him a bath.

Mama gets home around eleven, kicking off her shoes and easing into the recliner. I’m sprawled out on the couch where I’ve spent the evening texting with Rhys.

“How was cards?” I ask.

“Eh, Maria cheated.”

I stifle a laugh. “Maria always cheats,” I say, typing a quick message back to Rhys. He’s been giving me a play-by-play of the shenanigans going down in the dressing room backstage. Who knew drag queens were so funny?

Mama waves away my comment while pulling on the lever at the side of her chair. The footrest pops up and the chair reclines back. She peers at me from her stretched-out position. “Why are you smiling like that?”

I pause, realizing only then that I’ve got a giant grin on my face. I drop my phone onto my chest, face down. “Smiling like what?”

“Angel.”

I don’t need to glance at Mama to know what expression she’s wearing. A very not impressed one. “No reason. Just chatting with a friend.”

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