Page 48 of Angel

Rhys bows and disappears backstage. Anna Conda comes back out to introduce the next act.

With my heart in my throat and my lungs struggling to function, I stumble back to my dark little corner. But it’s no longer empty. Hayden’s taken my spot, arms crossed and frowning.

I haven’t seen him since that first afternoon at Rhys’s apartment—their apartment. Maybe he doesn’t remember me? Maybe that’s why he’s staring at me like I spilled my drink on his pants.

“Oh, uh, hey, I’m Angel, uh, Rhys’s friend?”

He studies me for a moment before sighing. “Yeah, I know all about you, teddy bear.”

He uses the nickname Rhys has for me and it makes my hackles rise. Strange—it never bothers me when Rhys uses it. Why does it sound so wrong coming from Hayden?

“We weren’t sure if you would show up today,” Hayden says.

I flinch at the subtle accusation in his words. “Yeah, I’m sorry about Wednesday. My sister…” Um, how do I say she wanted to go out with her friends and didn’t bother to ask if I was free?

“Needed you to babysit, yeah, I know.” Hayden dismisses the rest of my comment.

Silence falls between us as the next performer takes the stage. Hayden keeps studying me and my ears start growing hot. Why is he looking at me like that? Why won’t he say anything? Should I say something? What should I say?

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Hayden finally breaks the silence.

Except I have no idea what he means. “What I’m doing?”

“With Rhys,” Hayden clarifies. “He’s fun and flirty and he can let a lot of things roll off his back. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Oh. Shoot.

I nod jerkily, at a loss for words. Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I have absolutely no freaking idea. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never met anyone like Rhys in my life. I’ve never felt the way he makes me feel.

I’m in uncharted territory without a map. Rhys has become my North Star. All I know is I want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

RHYS

Pulling the short, silky dressing gown tightly around me, I rush out front in search of Angel. He’s on the other side of the club from the stage door, so it takes a bit of weaving through the crowd to get to him.

I’m stopped a few times by men who compliment me on my routine, and a couple more by guys who flash me flirty smiles. I manage to politely put them off before I continue toward Angel.

Then there he is. He looks amazing. The jewel-toned green shirt hugs his wide shoulders and shows off the little swell of his belly. It’s unbuttoned at the collar, dipping low enough for some dark chest hair to poke out. A thick gold-link chain lies flat against his chest. The shirtsleeves have been rolled up to reveal his forearms, and dear fucking god, those forearms! They should be illegal, with how strong and furry they are.

Angel looks up as I approach and his eyes brighten when he sees me. He breaks out into a grin so wide it throws me off balance.

I didn’t bother to stop and change my boots, so I’m still tiptoeing in my sky-high performance heels. Normally, I can saunter around in them without a second thought. But the things Angel does to me are entirely abnormal.

I stumble toward him and he catches me, drawing me flush against his deliciously cushioned chest. With the extra six-or-so inches on my feet, I’m eye level with him. And even though it’s dark in the club, I can still see the deep, rich browns of his irises.

So close to him, I’m completely enveloped in that distinctly Angel scent. Fresh sawdust cuts through the sour, alcohol-soaked air of the club. I breathe deep, greedy for more.

“Hey,” I breathe, just loud enough for the sound to travel the few inches from my lips to his ears.

“Hey,” Angel replies, and I feel the rumble in his chest more than I actually hear the words.

“You made it.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

---