Page 62 of Angel

He shrugs, his big body moving under me.

“How did he react? When you told him?”

Angel pulls back, but keeps his eyes downcast. His hands play with the hem of my shirt at my back. “He was surprised. Said I didn’t give off a vibe.”

I still as my anger surges. At the same time, a little voice at the back of my mind calls me a hypocrite. Isn’t that what I thought at first? Angel’s a rough, burly construction worker from the old neighborhood, so he has to be just like everyone else from there. Judgy and a tad homophobic, not so blatant that it’s obvious, just enough to make things uncomfortable.

But Angel’s nothing like them. He’s sweet, kind, caring, selfless. He’s special.

“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?”

Angel slowly shakes his head. “He said he wouldn’t.”

“Do you believe him?” Because I sure as fuck wouldn’t.

He takes a moment to think before answering. “I don’t know. I think so.”

Angel knows Mario a hell of a lot better than I do, but he’s also way more trusting than I am.

“Well, if he does, you tell me, and I will shred him.” I give Angel’s chest a poke to make my point. “I will tear him limb from limb. Don’t underestimate me because I’m small. These nails are reinforced and I know how to use them.” I hold my hand up and wiggle my fingers. The nails are a bright orange today to go with the peachy-pink color of my hair.

My threat—uttered in complete seriousness—draws a smile from Angel. “I know. I would never underestimate you.”

His vote of confidence makes my chest feel all warm and fuzzy. It makes me feel like I can do anything, overcome anything. Anything except…

Another question hovers on the tip of my tongue, one that I don’t have the guts to ask. Why did he tell Mario in the first place? Why now? Why today?

If this is just a phase, if this is just Angel exploring his sexuality before he meets a nice girl, gets married and has kids… then I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know. I’d rather live in my little make-believe world and pretend that Angel is mine forever.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

ANGEL

My chest has been tight all afternoon. Ever since that conversation with Mario, all through the drive to Rhys’s apartment, even after he kissed me by the front door. I’ve been wound up so tight, bracing myself for something bad to happen.

But then Rhys crawled into my lap and pressed himself to me. I breathed him in, held him, was held by him. Gradually, the tension eased.

The worry is still there. How will Mario will treat me now? Will anyone else in the neighborhood find out? But the longer I have Rhys in my lap, the less panicked I feel about it. I might not know what to do if people find out about me, but Rhys does. He’ll be there. He’ll help me.

My stomach grumbles, loudly, and we both glance down at my belly.

I didn’t have much of an appetite on my way over, but my body disagrees.

“I guess we should eat?” Rhys asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, with a sheepish smile.

He moves to climb off my lap, but I pull him back down. I like having him here. I don’t want him to move.

“Is it okay if we…?”

“Eat like this?” Rhys finishes my question. “Of course, babe.”

He turns to grab a plate—mine or his, it doesn’t matter. Then he picks up a bit of brisket on a fork and holds it up for me. I open my mouth and let him feed it to me.

Smoky barbecue flavor bursts on my tongue and I moan in appreciation. Rhys’s eyes darken in response.

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