Was I really considering Gabriel might be an angel? I’d known him since I was just a kid. We’d grown up in the same neighborhood. I’d known his parents. They had been normal.
Gabe didn’t have wings. That’s all there was to it.
Angels weren’t real. They couldn’t be real. Why was I fighting myself on this, trying to convince myself that was the truth?
Movement in my periphery drew my gaze to the bar. My heart clenched in my chest, seeing the handsome as sin club owner fix a customer a drink. Jess followed my line of sight, and she let out a small gasp as her gaze fixed on the devil.
“Holy, hot damn. Is thathim?”
The moment the word “him” slipped from her, his eyes flicked up and locked with Jess’. I could practically hear the wind being knocked from her. By the expressions on both their faces, it was one of those moments that two people met for the first time across the room. Only, when that happened in romantic movies, it usually was in a restaurant or at a wedding. Somewhere romantic. Not in a strip club. And the guys in those kinds of things were big-city lawyers in need of some small-town charm to melt their cold hearts or whatever. Not slick billionaires with dirty smiles and delusions that they were the devil.
“What the hell, Mel.That’sLucifer Morningstar? Why didn’t you tell me he’s that hot?”
“Wait here.”
“What? Where are you going?Mel!”
I didn’t answer her. I was already on my feet and moving toward the bar.
If anyone knew anything about angels, it would be the guy claiming to be the king of the fallen. Or, the more likely scenario, he wouldn’t have the slightest idea about Gabriel’s ramblings and confirm that Gabe was either crazy or Seattle’s biggest jackass.
Outside, Gabriel and Lucifer had acted like they knew each other. Maybe Lucifer knew something about Gabriel that I didn’t.
Please, God. Don’t say he’s an angel.
If he was, I would need a strong drink. A really strong drink. And if Lucifer Morningstar really was the devil, he’d know how to make a damn good Manhattan.
