Page 15 of Pitiful Lies

“Okay, Mom, I will call her. But we’re not in Jersey yet.”

“What? Why not?” Mom asks.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Angel says. “I thought a tour of the coast might be nice. But don't you worry, Mrs. Vega, I'm a good driver.”

“Oh, a road trip. How romantic! And I'm sure you are a very good driver, Angel. I know you'll take care of our baby. And if you won’t call me Mom, I insist you call me Delia, okay?”

“Oh my God! Mom, what are you doing?”

“What am I doing? Oh, you mean talking to your fiancé, even though you never told me you had one? Really, Sisi, Daddy and I are kind of miffed about that. He’s at the golf club now, but he is expecting a phone call from you later, young lady.”

“What? I am not engaged—” I try to explain.

“Oh, I gotta go. That’s the doorbell. Bye, kids. Call us later!”

Mom hangs up before I can correct her gross misinterpretation of mine and Angel’s relationship.

This prick.

How could he do this to me? I mean lying to my parents about a relationship is one thing, but saying we are engaged? It just cuts way too close to the real issue. And that’s that Angel is not serious about me at all.

And I want him to be. Isn’t that the real problem?

I turn my body to face him, and he’s not even looking at me. I am so mad right now, I could scream.

But I don’t want him to crash, so instead, I settle for pinching him on the bicep. It’s difficult since he has zero body fat, but I get a nice piece of skin between my nails, and I turn it hard.

“Ouch! What the hell, Koukla?”

“First of all, I call bullshit. You don’t even have any fat for me to pinch,” I grumble, and I know I am being ridiculous, but whatever.

“Yeah, well, pinching skin hurts, too,” he replies, rubbing the spot, and I am momentarily mollified.

“Damn, if you want to get kinky with me, you just gotta ask, Little Doll,” he says, turning it into a joke.

And I am mad all over again.

“Why did you tell my parents we’re engaged?” I cut to the chase.

“Don't be dumb, Sisi,” he says.

I huff, crossing my arms and waiting for more of an explanation. Angel’s cerulean gaze flashes at me before he exhales and nods his head.

“Be reasonable, Koukla. How else was I supposed to get your mother to give me your suitcase? I couldn't just say Hey, Mrs. Vega, Can I have your daughter’s things? We like to fuck sometimes, so I know she won’t mind. Somehow, I don’t think that would have gone over very well.”

Asshole.

Of course, he is right. But what the heck kind of explanation is that, anyway?

“First off, we are not fuck buddies,” I tell him angry at his description of our former relationship.

We like to fuck sometimes.

I mean, even if that’s true, fuck him for saying it so nonchalantly.

But before I can really give him a piece of my mind, Angel interrupts me.

“Finally, something we agree on, Koukla. Now, you want burgers or BBQ for lunch?”

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