Page 10 of Angel

It was fine.

It was all fine.

Cage did not like the word sulking. It was demeaning and unmanly—and yet, it was the perfect description of his walk back to the clubhouse. He hadn’t gotten drunk in weeks but damn it sounded like a good idea now.

He’d gone out to the store and bought her soup. He’d checked on Bree and made sure she didn’t have any questions on her summer schoolwork. He’d cleaned her kitchen and changed out a lightbulb in her living room. He’d cleaned her bathrooms and taken out the trash.

He was utterly pathetic.

From the moment Cage realized he had feelings for Angel, it was like she’d placed a filter over his senses. He couldn’t see, hear, feel, smell, or taste anyone but her. Angel.

He’d tried to get her out of his head. He’d tried to move on. But it was always her. Only her.

Cage sat down at the barstool in the clubhouse. Most of his brothers were out at Demon’s but there were a few hanging around. Cage had no intention of speaking to any of them.

Sara, one of the club’s three prospects, handed Cage a beer without having to be asked. Cage lifted his chin in thanks. She’d make it far in the club if she could predict who needed a drink and gave it to them.

Cage’s first beer disappeared fast. He wasn’t a big drinker. He drank socially and wasn’t prone to overindulging because he didn’t have the endurance he’d had in his early twenties anymore. Additionally, going to work at a construction yard with a hangover was pure torture. He had no desire to ever do that again.

After he donated his kidney to Bree, he’d been under orders to not drink heavily. Drinking high doses of alcohol constantly put more strain on his remaining kidney. He’d followed that rule except for once a few weeks ago.

But the temptation to forget Angel was so tantalizing. To forget her harsh and yet accurate words. Despite that he’d been celibate for the past year, he couldn’t erase his past. He was a healthy male with a healthy sex drive. The fact that women found him so attractive didn’t hurt his cause either. He’d had a lot of sex in his life. A lot. Angel calling him a man-whore was, well, the truth.

And that hurt.

Cage couldn’t change his history but…damn. He wished he could.

Arms snaked around his shoulders as he nursed his second beer. Cage had been debating on asking Sara for a shot of whiskey but stopped himself at the feel of a female body being pressed to his back.

For one fleeting second, Cage thought it might be Angel. It was a stupid gut reaction because Angel was sick with the flu in her bed. Even if she did feel bad for what she had said, she wasn’t going to be chasing after him.

A glance up at the mirror behind the back bar told Cage who was leaning into him. He turned his head to tell Evette, one of the club’s Honeys, to leave him alone when she took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on the skin.

A year ago, the action would have gotten him so hard and horny that there was a good chance they would be fucking up against the wall. He was one of the brothers who didn’t care if he had an audience or not. Bear had been one of the biggest exhibitionists before he’d knocked up and married Tessa. Even now, two of the Honeys were making out with two brothers on the couch. Gracie wasn’t wearing a top.

The feel of Evette’s body, her hot breath, even her teeth scraping against his lobe… Cage felt gross. He wasn’t turned on or tempted in the slightest. His stomach roiled and, for a moment, he thought he might throw up.

He rolled his shoulder, pulling his head away from her mouth.

“Hey!” she protested with a whine that grated on his nerves. God, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Cage slid off the stool he’d been on and took the one to his right. “Not in the mood, Evette. Go hang out with one of the others.”

Instead, she slid onto the stool he’d just vacated. She picked up his beer bottle from the bar and took a long swallow. “Don’t be like that, baby. We can have some fun.”

She tipped herself forward, making her tits nearly fall out of her low-cut dress. Cage looked—of course he did—but his body didn’t react. Was he sick? Was he dying? What the hell had Angel done to him that he could no longer get aroused by the sight of a woman’s tits? Tits that he’d been well acquainted with over the years.

Hell, he’d slept with all the Honeys countless times. Occasionally, he’d had more than one at once. The Honeys were fun. A convenience without the hassle of a pickup line or an excuse at the end of the night as to why he would not be calling her…

Fuck. He was a complete and utter asshole. No wonder Angel didn’t want anything to do with him.

Evette ran her tongue along the rim of his glass beer bottle. It should have been sexy. Instead, all he could think about was Angel miserable and alone in her bed with the flu.

Cage got up. He knew where he wanted to be, and it wasn’t here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be where he wanted to be because he’d been kicked out. Ignoring Evette and the others, he headed towards his clubhouse apartment.

Demo was in the hallway with Monica, her hand suspiciously out of view. As Cage entered, Demo picked his head up. He’d been shot less than two weeks ago. His gut wound was healing nicely but Cage knew that his shoulder wound was giving him a lot of problems. The navy blue sling, that rested his arm across his chest, also had a strap around his torso to hold his arm in place.

“You good, brother?” Demo asked. His eyes narrowed upon seeing Cage.

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