Page 126 of Devious Lies

Everything is so fucked up. I don’t know what to do anymore.

I know it’s stupid and weak, but after seeing Angel with that woman plastered all over him, I had to leave.

I know we never put a label on whatever it is we’ve been doing.

But still.

I didn’t expect to see him with another woman.

Not after that whole macho fucking thing he pulled after I sorta tossed a glass of beer in his face.

For weeks he made me believe if I didn’t play along with his me Tarzan, you Jane bullshit, that I’d suffer the consequences.

Fine. I let myself believe it because the truth is I never expected anyone who looks like him to want anything to do with someone who looks like me.

I’m not ugly. I don’t have low self-esteem. But I am a realist.

My body is super curvy and ultra thick.

There is no excuse, like I can’t exercise or have some metabolic disorder.

I just like food.

And I am active. I mean I swim, I walk, I hike.

But what can I say?

My chub ain’t going nowhere.

But then there is Angel.

And Angel is a physical specimen right out of some dark romance novel. He’s six foot six and an easy three hundred twenty pounds of curved, spectacular, rock hard muscle.

And did I mention his face?

It’s gotta be kismet or something.

His name, I mean.

Because Angel Fury looks like a certified angel.

He is so handsome it hurts.

The dick.

He has light eyes, excellent bone structure, and full, sinfully delicious lips.

Seriously, I just wanna sit on his face for like hours with those things.

I have.

Which makes this so fucking hard.

Of course, the woman he was with at the Den was skinny and blonde and stacked like a supermodel.

I wish I could hate her, but I don’t even know her.

“Did you pick a color?” the manicurist asks, and I show her the hot pink I chose for my mani-pedi.

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