Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I’m nervous, yeah. But also… proud. For the first time in my tragic life I’ve met my reflection’s gaze in the mirror and thought I might not be completely unlovable.
“Looking good, Creep!” Rhonda yells before we even reach the counter, which makes more people glance my way, and for once, I don’t dread their attention.
Prophet, who sits at the usual club members’ table across the hall, leans back with a disbelieving smile. “Look at that! You have a face, Creep!”
Several fists hit the table in exaggerated celebration while my friends holler as if I’ve just come back from the dead, not tied back my hair. There are too many eyes on me, too much noise, too much smiling. Does Angel wish for all this attention?
“Should we take the food to go?”
“Do you want to? I’d love to sit with the guys.” My sweet boy doesn’t seem at all bothered and grabs one of the trays before approaching Rhonda, who’s grinning at us from behind the counter.
“I really didn’t do much,” he tells her, picking some eggs for his plate. “Just look at that bone structure. I could cut my toast on his cheeks.”
It’s a joke. Obviously. I’m used to being seen as a threat, a guy who’s fucked in the head, a maniac, a cave-dwelling creature, a monster from your nightmares. But the way Angel looks at me with eyes soft like butter gives me goosebumps. He sees under all the freaky shit, under my Vulture patches, and isn’t even a little bit afraid. As if I couldn't scare him if I tried.
I grab my favorite, a cream cheese sandwich with raisins, and after a moment of hesitation, an extra muffin, just in case Angel would like to try one.
I flinch when someone brushes their fingers against my arm in passing, and I spot Daisy when I whip my head her way. “Damn, Creep. You sure you’re not straight?”
A grimace passes over Angel’s features as he follows her with his gaze. Surely, he can’t be jealous?
“Are you... all right with people touching you like this?” he asks, leaning toward me. He then picks up two bowls and fills them with salad. One of them ends up on my tray. If he’s so bold in his assumptions, I make my point too, and put the muffin on his without asking.
“No. And they usually don’t. You know I’m not so great with touching.”
Not that Daisy is here anymore to be reprimanded. Deep down, I know she meant well, and that it’s me who needs to learn how to be around people.
“Well, in that case, I will speak up next time,” Angel tells me cheerfully.
I spot Rooster by one of the tables, passing his nephew to his sister as they both look back at me with identical smiles.
Angel exchanges a few words with Rhonda and her husband, then heads toward the busy table. I’m confused whether he still wants me to follow, but when he winks at me, I move like a puppy hoping for a snack.
It’s hardly the whole club, but sitting with Prophet are Road, Clyde, and Yeti, so it still feels like a crowd. Yeti puts his hands around his mouth and howls. I have no idea what he fucking means.
“Are you his dolly now?” Yeti asks, wiggling his fingers, presumably to indicate my painted nails.
Oh, it’s on. My walls go up, and I’m ready for confrontation because that’s the only language Yeti understands. “I like it. Much better than all that black under your nails.”
Clyde snorts so hard Road has to pat his back when he starts choking. Yeti’s expression sours, but before he can try to defend his unhygienic habits, Rooster joins us with his dad, Harvey.
“What’s up?” Rooster asks with a big grin and steals a blueberry off Clyde’s tray.
Road laughs. “Yeti was just asking Angel how much it would cost to get his unibrow under control.”
Yeti runs his middle finger over his eyebrows. “This thing here is proof of my virility, and it won’t be balding anytime soon.” It’s a dig clearly meant at Road and his buzz cut.
Clyde just keeps laughing, and when he bends forward, resting one hand on Road’s shoulder, his golden mane covers most of his face. “He has hair, dumbass, just shaves it off.”
It makes no sense, since excessive testosterone can cause hair loss in both men and women, but I choose not to voice my objections and sit next to Angel. Any other time, I’d wonder if I should even be here, but his presence gives me the confidence to take up as much space as I need.
“Glad you worked things out,” Prophet says and pats my shoulder.
“There was nothing to work out, really. A simple misunderstanding,” Angel says, offering me a bright grin. He digs into his salad first, because he’s virtuous like that, and I’m compelled to seek his approval by doing the same.