Chapter Two-Giselle
CHAPTER TWO-GISELLE
B astard.
I can’t believe Angel said that. Well, that’s not exactly true.
Of course, I can believe it.
Angel is a big, sexy, tattooed giant who loves talking dirty.
It’s one of the things I like most about him. Something I never thought I would ever admit to.
If only he wasn’t talking to every woman he fucking looks at like that.
Sadness and lust war within me, but the cell phone in my pocket buzzes and I heave out a sigh.
“Whose texting you like that?” Angel asks, his thick black brows furrowed like he’s curious, bordering on annoyed.
But I don’t have it in me to play games with him. I’m not like that.
“It’s my mom.”
“Oh,” he replies. “Call her.”
“No,” I tell him, and give him a look that says he’s crazy.
“Koukla, call your mother. She might be worried about you.”
We’ve been driving for four hours, but we haven’t even made it to the top of Florida yet. This state just seems to go on forever, and I95 isn’t even packed yet.
“And tell her what? That some lunatic kidnapped me from the nail salon?”
Angel sighs and just shakes his head. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he’s pressing a button on the complicated-looking steering wheel of the insanely hot muscle car he’s driving.
Then, he dials a familiar number. I can see it on the enormous monitor.
Oh my God.
It’s my parents’ number.
“How the fuck did you get?—”
But I can’t finish that question because my mother’s voice greets me over the speakers.
“Is that you, Angel? Honey, an Angel is calling me on my phone,” she says with laughter lacing her voice.
I think she’s talking out loud maybe to my dad, but then again, she talks to herself whether or not he is there sometimes. My mom is fun like that.
I am too stunned to speak, but it appears I don’t have to. Angel does it for me.
“Hello, Mrs. Vega,” he says, and he’s smiling.
Like, he’s really fucking smiling.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do that before. My heart constricts. It feels so full and tight all at the same time. A flurry of emotions hits me.
Sadness, regret, and a sort of mourning fills me. A requiem for lost dreams.
There’s more, too. I don’t know what it is exactly.
Maybe hope.
But that’s idiotic, and I quickly douse that ember of feeling before it can become something else.
Something deadly.
You are so fucking pitiful, Sisi. You know that?
But I ignore my bitch of an inner voice, and I tune into the conversation between my cheating ex whatever and my mother.
“Now, what did I tell you before? If my handsome new almost son-in-law is going to call me anything, it’s going to be Mom,” she says in a sing-song voice.
“What?” I gasp before Angel can answer.
He’s grinning at me now, and I want to hit him.
“Mom, he’s not gonna call you that! What did you do? ” I shout and mouth the last part to him.
But he doesn’t bother answering me. Of course, he doesn’t.
Fucker.
“Sisi, are you back in Jersey? I want you to check on Resa, she’s been having trouble with her RA at school,” she says.
“Okay, Mom, I will call her. But we’re not in Jersey yet.”
“What? Why not?” Mom asks.
“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Angel says. “I thought a tour of the coast might be nice. But don't you worry, Mrs. Vega, I'm a good driver.”
“Oh, a road trip. How romantic! And I'm sure you are a very good driver, Angel. I know you'll take care of our baby. And if you won’t call me Mom, I insist you call me Delia, okay?”
“Oh my God! Mom, what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? Oh, you mean talking to your fiancé, even though you never told me you had one? Really, Sisi, Daddy and I are kind of miffed about that. He’s at the golf club now, but he is expecting a phone call from you later, young lady.”
“What? I am not engaged—” I try to explain.
“Oh, I gotta go. That’s the doorbell. Bye, kids. Call us later!”
Mom hangs up before I can correct her gross misinterpretation of mine and Angel’s relationship.
This prick.
How could he do this to me? I mean lying to my parents about a relationship is one thing, but saying we are engaged? It just cuts way too close to the real issue. And that’s that Angel is not serious about me at all.
And I want him to be. Isn’t that the real problem?
I turn my body to face him, and he’s not even looking at me. I am so mad right now, I could scream.
But I don’t want him to crash, so instead, I settle for pinching him on the bicep. It’s difficult since he has zero body fat, but I get a nice piece of skin between my nails, and I turn it hard.
“Ouch! What the hell, Koukla?”
“First of all, I call bullshit. You don’t even have any fat for me to pinch,” I grumble, and I know I am being ridiculous, but whatever.
“Yeah, well, pinching skin hurts, too,” he replies, rubbing the spot, and I am momentarily mollified.
“Damn, if you want to get kinky with me, you just gotta ask, Little Doll,” he says, turning it into a joke.
And I am mad all over again.
“Why did you tell my parents we’re engaged?” I cut to the chase.
“Don't be dumb, Sisi,” he says.
I huff, crossing my arms and waiting for more of an explanation. Angel’s cerulean gaze flashes at me before he exhales and nods his head.
“Be reasonable, Koukla. How else was I supposed to get your mother to give me your suitcase? I couldn't just say Hey, Mrs. Vega, Can I have your daughter’s things? We like to fuck sometimes, so I know she won’t mind. Somehow, I don’t think that would have gone over very well.”
Asshole.
Of course, he is right. But what the heck kind of explanation is that, anyway?
“First off, we are not fuck buddies,” I tell him angry at his description of our former relationship.
We like to fuck sometimes.
I mean, even if that’s true, fuck him for saying it so nonchalantly.
But before I can really give him a piece of my mind, Angel interrupts me.
“Finally, something we agree on, Koukla. Now, you want burgers or BBQ for lunch?”
“What?”
Is this guy serious?
How the hell can he just jump from discussing our past sexy times to food with no transition at all?
“Lunch, Sisi. What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” I reply, but my stomach growls, and he just gives me a duh look.
“Fine. I don’t care. Either,” I say.
Now I’m pissed off and hungry.
“Giselle,” he says my full name, and it’s like a command.
I swear I feel it all the way to my core. But I refuse to give Angel that kind of power, so I ignore the feeling and continue with my mulish behavior. Crossing my arms, I shrug.
“I really don’t care,” I say.
Now, he pulls over to the shoulder. His unwavering stare on my face. I try to hold out. I really do.
But three minutes of that stare is all I can stand.
“Fine! BBQ,” I grumble, and he grins.
The prick.
“Good Girl,” Angel praises me for answering him, and again, my core twitches with need.