Angel drops the heavy paper bag into my lap, and I immediately tear into it, the delicious smell of French fries flooding the car.
I’m stunned when I realize Angel has ordered enough snacks to last me two days. I still have trouble eating large portions, but almost everything I eat these days stays down. Angel calls that progress.
“Whoa… sugar daddy?”
Angel throws his head back, his carefree laugh rattlingthe car. He barely manages to park between two white lines, laughing so hard he’s shaking.
“Shut up, you fool.” He chuckles, switching the engine off and letting the thunder and wind wash over the silence.
“Just Daddy, then?” I wiggle my eyebrows at my pretty Angel, earning more of that raspy laugh I’m addicted to.
He flicks my nose. “Keep it PG-13, sweetheart.”
He turns to face me, giving me the perfect view of that unfairly gorgeous face, and I have an overwhelming urge to squish his cheeks and devour him.
Lately, I’ve been embracing what Seiji calls ‘my inner whore’, and most of the time, all she wants is to be permanently glued to Angel.
Angel takes the bag from me and starts feeding us both. I’ve gotten better with forks, spoons, and even chopsticks, thanks to Seiji, but Angel still insists on feeding me himself. Honestly, I don’t mind him fussing over me.
He reaches into the compartment in front of me, pulls out a pack of sour candies, and drops them in my lap. Judging by the smug grin on his face, Angel knows he has successfully discovered my current obsession.
“I think I’m going to ugly cry.”
I’m genuinely trying not to cry as I pout at him. These days, something as simple as a bag of sour candies and fries can reduce me to tears. It’s like finally being able to feel and freely express my emotions has cracked my armor, and with each day I spend with my mate, another piece falls away.
“That’s impossible. You’re never ugly.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead.
“Even when I eat like nobody has fed me in years?”
“Especially not then.” He kisses the tip of my nose this time.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to ugly cry now.
We settle into a comfortable silence, but I have a feeling Angel wants to ask me something, but he’s hesitating.
“So, I have a question.” Here we go. I wait, but his nerves pick up again. “Promise me you won’t get mad.” He holds outhis pinkie and refuses to say another word until I loop mine around his.
“I can’t get mad at you, Angel. I’ve tried.”
“What—When?”
“That day you took my sweatshirt.”
“First of all,mysweatshirt. And second, I was washing it for you.”
“Tomato-potato.”
“That’s not how you use it,” he snickers, shaking his head.
Once it’s confirmed that I really can’t stay mad at his handsome face, he finally blurts out, “Did you ever think Harvey could be your mate?”
“Nope.”
He blinks at how quickly I answer. “That sure?”
I snatch the last fry and wipe the invisible grease on my fingers with a tissue.
“Harvey was my best friend when I was two and will be when I’m two hundred twenty-two. The day Papa told us about mates, we both knew we weren’t that for each other. And it was perfect that way. It meant that someday we’ll have more people who’d want to be part of our little friend circle.”
