Page 64 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

Angelo actually chuckled at that, surprising himself. “Deal. But if you show up late again, I’m ordering you a caramel mocha. With extra whipped cream.”

Johnathan laughed, the tension between them finally starting to ease. “Now that’s just cruel.”

For the first time, Angelo allowed himself to relax, feeling the beginning of something that might, with time, actually resemble friendship. It was awkward, sure, but it was a start. And for Allison’s sake, that was good enough.

For the next few weeks, all Angelo could think was:What the fuck was I thinking?

He spent countless hours cursing himself, tossing and turning in bed, or pacing in his office—his new favorite pastime—haunted by the memory of that absolutely horrifying phone call with Allison.

He had tried to push it to the back of his mind, burying his head in the sand and refusing to let his thoughts wander. But now, as he prepared to pick Allison up from her house, the memory of that night came rushing back, replaying in his mind like a recurring nightmare.

The whole experience had been mortifying. He’d rambled about how inappropriate his behavior had been, which only made him feel like he was losing control—a sensation he couldn’t handle, whether inside or outside the boardroom. In his frustration, he’d acted like a growling, petulant puppy, and, to top it off, he’d actually uttered the phrase, “good girl”—to the mother of his child.

What thefuckwas I thinking?

No wonder she hung up without saying goodbye.

Angelo huffed as he buttoned his perfectly ironed black shirt. He was putting on his brave face, determined to look composed no matter the turmoil in his mind, as if appearance alone might somehow redeem him from his humiliation.

It wasn’t so much the phrase itself that bothered him. In fact, he’d actually liked it and had used it during their one night together. He couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that filled him whenever he imagined Allison on her knees, taking him in her mouth while he showered her with compliments and praise.

What troubled him was the context in which he’d used it—how completely out of place and inappropriate it had been in that moment. And the fact that she wasn’t even his. He’d just thrownthat at her with no warning, no permission—just his horny self, thinking with the smaller of his two heads.

Christ, I’m not going to survive this.

Angelo sighed, checking himself in the mirror one last time and decided his appearance was satisfactory.

It was time to face the music.

Thirty minutes later, Angelo found himself parked outside an impressive apartment building. As he texted Allison to let her know he had arrived, he debated how best to wait for her.

Inside or outside of the car?

Maybe leaning against it? Not that’s too cocky.

Just standing? Too stiff.

On the hood is out of the question.

Inside it is.

He noticed the glass doors opening out of the corner of his eye and turned instinctively. His breath was taken away, as it always was when he saw her.

Allison emerged dressed comfortably in black leggings, a pink sweater dress, and knee-high boots. Her hair flowed loosely down her back, with half of it tied up, framing her heart-shaped face. A thick coat draped over her shoulders, and she carried a pink bag—naturally.

She was so breathtakingly gorgeous that Angelo had to remind himself she was real.

It took tremendous effort to look away before she opened the passenger door, and he exhaled slowly, only to quickly suck in his breath again as he felt the effects of watching Allison’s little catwalk.

“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” she said as she slid into the car.

Angelo rolled his eyes at her insistence, even after all these weeks. “Good morning to you too, Pinkie.” His voice was deeper than he intended, still affected by the private show.

Allison blushed furiously, looking suddenly bashful, and Angelo found himself wanting to see more of that pretty pink on her cheeks. She was like a walking embodiment of the color.

“I’m sorry,” she said, fastening her seatbelt, which accentuated her small bump. “That was unnecessarily rude. I think the pregnancy hormones are starting to get to me. This nausea is really kicking my ass.”

Angelo offered a sympathetic smile, secretly savoring the fact that she had shared that detail with him. It made him feel more involved, as if he were genuinely part of the experience rather than just a bystander.

---