Page 34 of Angel
I shrugged. “Oh, anything is fine.”
“I’ll see what I can whip up. I can also have something sent over, if there’s anything in particular...”
“No, really. Anything is fine. Thank you.”
“Would you like to take a shower?”
I nodded.
He returned the nod, albeit stiffly.
What changed with him? He’d been the one to insist I stay over. One moment he seemed doting, and then the next cold. Was actually having me there proving to be awkward for him?
Angelo left and I explored the bathroom. My entire bedroom could fit in the closet, and there was a shower stall, plus a deep, circular jacuzzi tub with jets.
I undressed and climbed into the shower’s hot spray, letting the water’s jets massage the knots in my neck and shoulders. When I got so hot I couldn’t handle it anymore I climbed out and got dressed. I eyed the tub and promised myself a soak the next night. Moving back down the hallway, I resisted the urge to open any of the doors and look in them. For such an empty-feeling home, there sure were a lot of doors.
I found Angelo in the dining room off from the kitchen, filling two plates with pasta and salad.
“Just in time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I hope this is all right.
“That looks great. Thanks for cooking.”
We settled down across from each other at the massive table and began eating. Though a simple meal, it was delicious and I had to fight to not consume it like a hungry wolf. A true Italian, Angelo could make a mean marinara sauce.
“You’re a pretty decent cook,” I told him.
“I only know how to make a few things. My mother’s recipes.”
“Oh. Well this is great. Is this weird?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “Having me here?”
Angelo seemed to weight the answer for a few moments. “Maybe. But I like it.”
I nodded and went back to my food.
I got it. The thing we had going on between us, whatever you could call it, was highly unusual. He probably didn’t make it a habit of having female guests over. Not for days on end anyway.
If anything, I should be the one feeling the most awkward. I tried to turn him down.
Though I really didn’t want to.
I looked for a way to change the topic. “How long have you lived here for?”
“A few years.”
“And always alone?”
“Yes.” His fork stilled. “I admit, though, I don’t spend much time here.”
“Ah.”I could tell.
“How are you feeling? Did the shower help?”
“Yeah. It did. Thanks. That’s some, ah, awesome shower head pressure...”
He kept looking at me from across the table, his gaze falling over me and making my temperature climb. The memory of his hands on me in the car came back, along with the way my own body responded.
Feeling awkward and put off around him at all seemed crazy. This was Angelo. We’d known each other in the most intimate way.
