Page 13 of Bruised MC Bear

5

Angel

Angel triedto distract herself the next afternoon. “Okay, really?” she shouted at her TV from her spot on the living room sofa. “This is all you have for me on a goddamned Saturday afternoon? A bunch of reality shows, a couple of movies made before nineteen eighty-four, and the public access channel? Serves me right for not getting the deluxe cable package.”

She dropped the remote on the seat beside her. The sudden move excited Spencer, her black and white speckled greyhound, and he flopped onto his back, wiggling around for belly rubs like a cat. What a confused canine. The situation got even weirder when her tan-colored dachshund, Marley, hopped up on her lap and started licking her face.

“Don’t go begging, Spence. You too, Marley. I walked you for almost two hours this morning. At least you’re somewhat normal, Jet,” she remarked to her German Shepherd, who was snuggled on the floor chewing on a bone like his life depended on it. As if to contradict her, Jet promptly started choking, and then he horked half of his lunch all over the floor.

“I take back my previous statement,” Angel deadpanned, groaning as she contemplated the extra work. “Third time in a week, huh, buddy? Are you okay, Jet? Or are you just learning how to swallow?” Kicking off her blanket, she got up and headed to the kitchen, followed by all three dogs.

The pink top she wore last night was still hanging on the hook at her front door. Just seeing it sent a ripple of need through her. The memory of Axe’s expert fingers inside of her returned, causing her to swallow hard. God, what a tease he turned out to be. He had surprised her, getting her off then walking away as if he wasn’t hard as granite with need. And he said this wasn’t a game to him.

Angel forced herself to get back to reality, grabbing a handful of paper towels to take care of the dog puke.

“At least you’re not the worst mood killer I’ve had around me in the past twenty-four hours, Jet,” she whined.

After depositing everything into the trashcan and giving Jet something a little easier to eat, she turned off the TV and took a seat in front of her laptop. She logged into her previously shut down online dating profile on Curvy Meets Cute.

“Screw it,” she muttered. “Just because I said I wasn’t going to meet anyone there ever again, doesn’t mean I can’t break my own damn promise. It was only to myself.”

Whoa. That was an influx. Her inbox was in the double digits. She guessed the program rebooted and still got emails or something? Hell if she knew how it all worked, but it was more entertaining than TV. With a quick pit stop in the kitchen for a bottle of wine, a wine glass, and a bottle opener, she got down to it. Two hours later, her emails were clear. She had answered three of them, and cackled at the rest of them on account of the bottle of wine she’d consumed. Or two, but whatever. That was what Saturdays were about lately, with her best friend all the way in Eastern Europe and no solid dating prospects on the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, she shut off the laptop and sprawled out on the couch. Her pack of furry friends jumped on her, trying to snuggle and lick every inch of her face they could get their tongues on. When they were bored, they returned to the floor and napped.

After the delicious wine and nothing to eat, she was a goner, drifting off with a flood of fantasies about the hot biker with an attitude and the ability to make her so damned weak.

* * *

There was a noise. A very, very irritating noise. Something like a shrill ringing. And a banjo, or bongo drums. Angel groaned and rolled over—promptly landing in a graceless fall to the carpeted floor in front of the sofa. God, her head was pounding.

“Right. The phone,” she whispered through her dry-as-paper throat, groping across the coffee table for her cell. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey? I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice echoed in her brain. Wincing, she switched the phone to speaker and set it on the table.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she groaned, leaning her head back against the couch. “What’s going on?”

Angel blinked the sleep out of her eyes as Mom babbled on. Marley was curled up in a tiny section of the couch. The other two were nowhere to be seen, which probably meant they had taken over her bed. Crap. Her alarm had probably gone off in there, and she was supposed to be at the library for one of its busiest days.

“The annual book sale’s today!” she shouted.

“It is,” Mom agreed. “I thought you weren’t working on weekends anymore, love?”

“I have to. But let me know if you want to bring over leftovers. I’m totally game, okay?”

“You need to slow down, baby. Live a little, will you?”

“I will when all my student loans are paid off. I promise.”

“All right, honey,” Mom said with a concerned tone, but thankfully canned the rest of the lecture. It wasn’t the first time she had gone on about Angel being way too overworked for a librarian, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Listen, I have to get ready. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Love you, Mom.”

“Great. I love you too.”

Angel tapped the end call button and crawled up the sofa to get to her feet, hanging on to the wall to support her wobbly legs. Her gaze flew to the clock. Nine in the morning. Perfect. More than enough time to get rolling. With an hour to spare, she neatened up the place, tossed the wine bottles under the sink, and headed to her bedroom to get ready. Because what could be more fun than Sunday at her place of work, surrounded by more single women, families and kids than she knew what to do with?

* * *