Page 92 of Wicked Angel
I was used to running the other way when people ran out on me. Even a hint of rejection or disappointment in another human sent me jetting. What the hell did I need that for?
Problem was, when you just kept disappointing people, and all you did was turn your back on them in return… the number of people you could turn to just got smaller and smaller.
Angeline was wrong when she said I didn’t really need her. But that didn’t mean I enjoyed being in this position.
Far from it.
I finally managed to drag her over to Shayla so we could head home. But my sister wasn’t ready to leave. She tried to shoo me away, but I just stood there with Lamar while the two of them had girl talk, assuming they’d be done soon. Wrong.
Then I actually overheard what they were talking about.
“I’ve been going about it all wrong,” Angeline was saying. “The thing with Flynn…” Then something about “it’s time to finally move on.” At least, that was what I thought she said.
But then I realized that maybe she actually said, “it’s time to finally move on what I want.”
I leaned in closer to eavesdrop, and Lamar shook his head at me. The girls barely noticed I was there.
“… always thought he was so hot,” Angeline was gushing. “I just thought he was out of my league.”
What the fuck…
Was she talking about Dylan Cope? The hot fist clenched in my gut.
“… he’s single, though,” I heard her say.Not Dylan, then.“What have I got to lose?”
Who the fuck was she talking about?
“He’s not out of your league,” my sister encouraged her.
They both turned, and I followed their line of sight to the dude sprawled at a nearby table. Shaggy hair, grossly tight jeans, and enough bloated ego to crowd every other rock star out of the room.
Jesus, no.
“Go talk to him,” I heard my sister say.
“No.”
They both looked at me.
“Excuse me?” Angeline said. She blinked at me, and I realized the sparkle in her glossy eyes wasn’t just social adrenaline. She was getting drunk.
“What are you still doing here?” Shayla demanded. Like they thought I’d left? I was right fucking here, the whole time.
I looked deep into Angeline’s eyes. “Preventing you from making a giant mistake. You’re not hitting on Dean Fucking Slater. The man is pond scum when it comes to women.”
“You don’t know,” she said.
I laughed. Oh yes, I knew. I’d toured with one of Dean’s bands. He was currently without a band, yet again, because no one could stand to work with him for more than a tour or two.
There was a reason he was known as Dickhead Dean. The guy was nice enough, maybe, but the little head did all the thinking for him. And there wasn’t much thinking going on.
“I’m going over there,” Angeline said.
“You go over there,” I growled, slow and deliberate, so she heard every word, “I’m going with you. You go on a date with him, I’m going with you. He tries to touch you, I break something on his body.”
Her mouth tumbled open. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not kidding.”
