Angel Domino (Mike Bravo Ops)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE_

ANGEL

If looks could kill, my Mike Bravo family would be dead. Not all of them, just the ones in my house. Iris, Zeus, and most of all Proxy, who brought Dipshit One and Two with him when I’d messaged an SOS.

Our boss, Trav, has implemented a rule that prevents me from killing any of them, though, so that’s disappointing.

Not that he had to implement that because of me or anything.

He blames me, but I think it’s for his own restraint more than mine.

Seriously, Iris and Zeus are like the little brothers you never asked for.

Iris flops backward on my bed. “We’re just saying, you looked hotter in the skirt.”

“And I’m saying I didn’t ask you.” I glare at Proxy.

My spotter throws his hands up in defeat. “You should have said it was a fashion emergency. I thought you were in trouble.”

That only makes my glare deepen. “In what world would I get myself into trouble and not be able to get out of it? You know, other than going on this blind date I let you set me up on. Why are we friends again?”

“Because you handpicked me to be your sidekick.”

“And now I regret it.” Not that I mean that. Proxy is my best friend in the entire world. It’s just really difficult to remember that sometimes.

“Why are you so nervous?” Zeus asks. “You’ve had sex with a million girls.”

“Not that many, thanks.” And I’m nervous because I hate dating. I don’t want to generalize and stereotype, but it feels like that joke about lesbians is accurate. “What’s the perfect thing to bring on a second date? A U-Haul.”

At least, that’s been my experience when trying to meet someone on an app or in a bar. Meeting people in person, by chance, is impossible too. The amount of flirting I have wasted on straight women is embarrassingly high.

I’m not looking for something serious. I want consistency and dates and sex, but most of all, I want the guarantee of companionship when I’m home.

I don’t have the time to throw all of my energy into a relationship when I’m busy with my work.

All I want is a woman who loves to have me by her side when I’m home but lets me do my thing while I’m away.

The constant missed calls and messages have the potential to distract me from my life-or-death job.

I understand that I’m away a lot, and it’s not like I can always keep in contact while I’m gone, but surely there’s a woman out there who is as career-focused as I am, someone who will appreciate the times we can be together but throw herself into something outside of me when we’re apart.

I’ve seen the type of relationships where couples live in each other’s pockets and always want to be together—Iris and his partner, Saint, come to mind—and while that’s fine … for them, I don’t think it’s realistic to see that type of relationship as completely healthy or for everyone.

I’m hoping this friend of a friend of Proxy’s cousin will tick all my boxes. No way in hell I’m saying that out loud with these muppets here, though. It would be nonstop jokes about my box being ticked over and over again.

Not everything is about sex. Proxy understands that being ace, but the rest of Mike Bravo? They’re like horny teenagers twenty-four seven.

“Damn, Angel,” Zeus says, pulling out a lingerie set from my closet and proving my point. It’s made of silk and wrinkles if it’s not on a hanger. It’s the only reason he has a chance to see it in the first place. “You should wear this on your date.”

I glance at Proxy to murder him with my gaze again, but he’s already being punished enough.

His face is all screwed up, and he’s no doubt picturing me in said black bodysuit and garter, hooking up with another woman.

The poor guy. He realized early on in his life that while he might be gay, sex is gross.

His words. I happen to like sex just fine.

I just don’t need it like these other boneheads around me seem to.

“You know what …” I take the lingerie from Zeus, and his eyes light up as if he, too, is picturing me the same way Proxy is. But I put it back in the closet. “Show-and-tell is over. Time to go bye-bye.”

“But—” Iris goes to protest.

“Bye,” I singsong.

They leave, Zeus muttering something about hoping my date is a bombshell so I’ll get laid and stop being so pissy.

All the members of Mike Bravo are like my brothers, and I’m pretty sure they see me like that too. Not as their sister, but just another one of the dudes. I don’t bother trying to explain the differences between men and women because, let’s face it, they all think they know the answer.

PMS doesn’t make me angry at them. They make me angry at them.

“I really am sorry,” Proxy says. “I forgot your date was tonight.”

Proxy would forget to show up for his own funeral if it were possible. His memory is shit.

“I just …” I sigh. “I want to find her. The one, you know?” If the one is even a thing that exists.

“Not really because I don’t have that need for someone in my life.” He playfully punches my shoulder. “That’s what I have you for.”

“Aww, just what every lesbian needs. Her gay BFF who is sex-averse. Wow. I’m so fulfilled in the love department.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, he smiles. “You’re lucky to have me.”

“So, so lucky.” This time, even though the sarcastic tone remains, I actually mean it.

A lot of people would be happy with the kind of companionship we have. I know I’m all he needs, and if I stripped back the basic necessities of life, he and the other guys in Mike Bravo would be enough for me. But doesn’t everyone want love? Real love?

I never bought into the Disney happily ever afters, mainly because I was confused why all the princesses wanted the prince to begin with, but I do want my happily ever after.

It might look different from what society deems as a relationship, but to have someone to come home to, to miss while I’m away, and to just know that I’m loved and cherished without the sense of clinginess … is that so much to ask?

Yes. Yes, it is too much to ask. Apparently.

I’m uncomfortable because I stupidly took Zeus and Iris’s advice and wore the leather miniskirt, and we’re sitting on high stools where I have to remind myself to fight the urge to sit how I normally do with my legs spread. Very unladylike. Not very demure.

Hey, all those sex ed classes about girls needing to keep their legs closed finally apply to me.

I’m also uncomfortable because my hair is down instead of in its trademark braid, and the way it tickles my neck makes me want to chop it all off. I should do it. I never wear it out, so what’s the point if I’m going to spend time braiding it every day?

“Do you agree?” Lily asks, and if I’m completely honest, I have no idea what she’s asking.

I tuned out about twenty minutes ago when she started talking about her five- and ten-year plans.

She’s a lawyer, and with how much legal trouble Mike Bravo tends to get in, I wouldn’t put it past Proxy to have set this up so we could have a direct connection to a lawyer in the future.

It’s the only way it would make sense. Either that or his cousin who has a friend had a friend who is a lesbian, and Proxy, dopey ace baby that he is, probably thought, “Oh, Angel is a lesbian too. That’s all it takes. Let’s set them up!”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “What am I agreeing to?”

“That it would be better to move out of LA when it came time to having children. Maybe even California.”

Somehow, I’m now having kids with this woman and moving?

I bite my lip. “Oh. Umm. Yes, I guess moving out of California to have children would make sense. If … I were at all interested in having children.”

She looks confused, her brow scrunched. “What woman doesn’t want children?”

Ah, this one?

“Unlike what society dictates, having children isn’t always a deep-seated need in every woman’s brain.” Or is it their womb that is supposed to make them desire to bear children? Whatever we’re “supposed” to have, I don’t have it. At all.

Everyone always says I’ll change my mind as I get older, but I’m approaching mid-thirties, and I still have no desire to change diapers or teach my kids that if they follow the path everyone else deems as important, life will be nothing but a disappointment.

Lily blinks at me. She has long lashes, jet-black hair like mine, but unlike my Dominican skin, she’s as pale as a Stephenie Meyer vampire. Though on her, it looks good.

There’s no denying that I’m attracted to her physically, but I’m sick of wasting my time when I know it’s only going to end badly.

“So, you don’t want kids at all, or you just don’t want to be pregnant? There’s always surrogacy or—”

I lean forward because something pings in my brain. “Theoretically, if we were to have kids, why wouldn’t you be the one to be pregnant?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be able to take time off work. Not if I want to make partner. And if I’m on that kind of money, then I’d really need my wife to be at home with the children.”

Yup. As I thought. Even though this woman is not heterosexual, she’s still thinking in that heteronormative mindset. One person works, the other stays home with the children that everyone so obviously wants. Because it’s not a full life unless you reproduce or some shit.

“Look,” I say. “It was really nice to meet you, and I know the perfect woman is out there for you, but I’m not her. I don’t want kids, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to quit my job to have them either. Just like you wouldn’t. Sorry this isn’t going to work.”

“I understand. It sucks because, well, you’re really hot, but I get it.” She bites her bottom lip, and I think it’s supposed to be sexy, but she has the thinnest lips of anyone I’ve ever seen. “I mean, we could … while we’re both single—”

“Casual never works for me,” I say. Either they get too attached and think they can change me, or I keep imagining this pressure to be more than casual, which makes me lash out and do or say something stupid, like accusing them of being clingy when they’re not.

Yeah, it’s not something I want to do again.

Been there, done that, have the lipstick stains on my favorite shirts to show for it.

“Fair enough.” Lily stands from her stool. “I’ll probably see you around.”

Considering our friend-of-a-friend connection is very loose and we’ve never crossed paths before, I doubt it, but I agree anyway to be polite.

She kisses me on the cheek and walks out of the now packed bar.

I’m contemplating either getting a very strong drink, banging my head on the table repeatedly, or getting out of here and ordering a very greasy, very carb-loaded pizza on the way home.

Before I can decide, an adorable, nerdy girl sits in Lily’s vacated seat. She has glasses and a trendy, feminine blonde mullet, and she puts a laptop down and opens it up, burying her head into it immediately.

I don’t know if she has even seen me or if she’s trying to push me off my own table. “Umm, hi.”

She lifts her head, and I’m struck by the pretty hazel eyes behind the thick rims of her glasses. “Oh shit, sorry. I thought you were leaving. Is anyone sitting here? There are, like, no spaces anywhere else, and I saw your friend leave … I can go. I can—”

“No, it’s okay. You can stay. I was contemplating leaving, but what can I say? I’m curious as to why someone would bring a laptop to a gay bar.”

Her pretty eyes widen, and that’s when I’m hit with a sense of familiarity. I know this woman from somewhere. But more importantly, that look of shock means she wasn’t aware where she was. Meaning, most likely, the gorgeous nerd who I get immediate sparks with is straight.

Because that’s how it always works.

She looks around the place. There’s a good mix of men, women, and enbies, so it’s probably easy to look over the fact that most people are paired off or grouped with their own genders. “This is a gay bar? Huh. Didn’t know that. Cool.”

I cock my head. “Where do I know you fro—oh.” It clicks. “You’re Jamie. Harley Valentine’s … assistant? Right? You’re part of his entourage.”

If she was shocked at learning this was a gay bar, it’s nothing compared to the worry in her eyes now. In fact, it looks like I’ve downright terrified her.

Doing what I do best: scaring pretty women away.