Page 81 of Wicked Angel
“Us?”
Her eyes darted away.
“You’re asking me on a date now?”
“No.” She seemed to force herself to look at me. Her cheeks looked suddenly flushed. “We can go as friends. That is a thing, you know.”
“I didn’t know we were friends.”
“We’re not. But we can make nice in public. It’s a skill set you could use some practice with, actually. So, practice taking me, your pretend friend, to a party.”
“I don’t do that, either.”
“What, go with a friend to a party?”
“Go with a female friend to a party.”
“For a rock star, you have a lot of rules.”
“Yeah, maybe I do.”
“Stupid ones.”
“That’s subjective.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to break your subjectively stupid rules. What you’ve been doing hasn’t been working so well, remember?”
Yeah. I remembered. “Look, maybe you don’t realize this, Angeline. But showing up to this kind of high-profile event with a female friend is lame. It means either you couldn’t get a date, or you want to fuck your friend but she’s friend-zoned you and you’re still hoping there’s a chance.”
“Really. Those are the only two options?”
“Yes. In summary, it’s what losers do.”
“Then I guess tonight you’re a loser who’s going to this party with me. Better than a loser who sits at home watching TV because he’s too stubborn to show up at a party where someone might get more attention than him. That doesn’t sound like a loser to me. It sounds like a big giant baby. And we are not friends. I’m your publicist. Now put your man pants on and take me to the goddamn party.”
Huh. Maybe I was wrong about her. That was fairly stern. “My pants are on.”
She’d stalked into the front hall and now picked up my keys, tossing them at me. “Then grab your keys and let’s go.”
I twirled my finger at the area in front of me, where she’d just reamed me out. “Where’d all that come from?”
She blew out a breath. “Mean Angie. I need to go change my bra, it’s digging into me and making me squizzy. Meet us outside in five minutes.”
With that, she vanished out the front door.
* * *
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of the limo. Angeline, me and Lamar. Shayla was up front with the driver. Her choice, but yeah, I’d maybe pointed out to her that he looked amenable to chitchat and she took the bait. He looked pretty but basic, the kind of guy who, when he wasn’t driving a limo, would probably be smoking a bong in his parents’ basement in between acting auditions that he never got hired for.
In other words, my sister’s type.
I wasn’t the only one in this family who could probably aim a little higher.
Angeline, staring out the window next to me, hadn’t said a word to me.
Lamar was reading a book, some self help thing about a winning mindset or mastering negotiations, which was what he did when I was with a woman and he was pretending he wasn’t here.
I’d been staring at my phone, mostly. Girl three had finally gotten back to me. She wasn’t single anymore. Or so she said.
