Page 34 of Bulletproof

“No.”

“Can you grab me some white wine—your choice—ice, and some kind of cheese that goes with fruit and crackers?”

“Absolutely. Two bottles of wine or three?”

“Three would be perfect.”

“Okay, where do you live?”

I was confused. Normally, I knew what I did when I did it, but this time, I was at a loss. When my phone rang, I answered on the second ring. I didn’t check the number.

I just said, “Hello?”

“Angel.”

“Oh, hey, Cris,” I sighed, having memorized the man’s voice with just one meeting.

“You know my voice.”

It was a big deal to a lot of people. I never really understood why.

“Course, but you’re also the only guy who calls me Angel.”

“Okay.”

“Which you should stop doing.”

“I’ll try,” he told me, clearing his throat. “You sound terrible, by the way. What’s wrong?”

“I dunno, but I pissed off Shane, and I have no idea what I did.”

He chuckled. “Since I have no clue who the hell Shane is, could you maybe start at the beginning?”

So, I explained to him how I had gone to the condo in Lincoln Park, been buzzed up through the security door, and stood outside on the welcome mat, waiting to be let in. The door opened, and the man there was thrilled to see me until I told him who I was. Shane McGill looked me up and down and then left me there, haunting the doorstep, as he walked away. I didn’t know whether to keep standing there or go in or ring the doorbell or what.

I poked my head in after a few minutes, and Fallon was there to warmly greet me, apologizing profusely for his significant other. I had no inkling as to what was going on.

Everyone else was nice. Fallon’s friends were fun and interesting, and even though I made myself busy in the kitchen, I’d still had lots of time to visit.

“Angel.”

“What?” I asked, interrupting my narrative.

“Did you maybe think that Sean⁠—”

“Shane.”

“Sorry. Shane. Did you ever think that maybe Shane wanted to host his own party?”

“No, it wasn’t like that, and he was pissed at me way before⁠—”

“Lemme ask you a question.”

“Sure,” I said as I walked toward my car, never upset when other people cut me off since I did it all the time myself.

“What’re you wearing?”

I laughed. “This is not one of those phone⁠—”