I look back in the sound’s direction to see Angelo pulling his fingers out of his mouth and walking toward me at a fast clip.
I look up at him when he is beside me as he mumbles, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, well, I leave in three weeks, so the pain isn’t all that long lasting.”
I swear I see a hint of amusement in his eyes, and maybe even a ghost of a smile.
***
The Diner is the name of the place we end up, and honestly, I don’t know if it’s the right or the wrong side of town, but we are here, in a red pleather booth, in the corner farthest from the entrance.
He sits with his back to the wall and looks around, almost like he is preparing for something bad to happen. I push a menu forward, hoping to distract him.
As I look through my own menu, I decide to open up to him about what happened to me, hoping he will feel a little less alone.
“After I was shot, I passed out. I woke up next to him... Gregory, my boyfriend,” I say it out loud for the first time in years, not looking at him. “Our pinkies were linked, so I know he was conscious for a while. I never really forgave myself for not fighting to stay awake.”
“Tatum, you don’t have to tell me this,” he whispers.
I look up at him and shrug. “It’s easier to talk with someone I don’t have to face again.”
He takes a deep breath and nods, sitting back. He is silent for a few minutes before he says, “When he stopped fighting, I didn’t let go of his neck.”
“Maybe you were afraid he would—”
“Attack me?” he huffs. “Tried that. Got him dead.”
I have no idea why, but it makes me laugh, and then he smiles, a real, genuine smile. Then he laughs. His laugh is deep and dark, but it’s beautiful and authentic.
I order a big greasy burger and fries, and he orders chicken and vegetables.
When the waitress leaves, I lean back in the pleather booth, look at him, and whisper, “You served your sentence, Angelo, and it was far harsher than you deserved. Now you have to live.”
“Not up for discussion,” he says sternly.
“I understand, but maybe... just think about it.”
He leans in with what I suppose is intent to intimidate. “I’m here because you were making a shit choice, which I will point out, you make a lot of shit choices when it comes to your safety.”
I lean in and give him the same thing. “I lived in fear for years. I won’t do it anymore.”
“There’s a big difference in being cautious and being stupid,” he says back, eyes narrowing.
I nod. “There’s also a difference between living and existing.”
Both his eyebrows creep up slowly. “I hear what you’re saying, but tell me. Are you really living, Annie?”
I feel my mouth drop open and quickly snap it shut.
He sits back, seeming proud of himself, as the waitress comes back with our drinks. Him water, and me a diet Coke.
After a moment of thinking as I sip my drink, I lean forward and say, “I get to live a thousand lives now that I’m writing fiction.”
“I wouldn’t want a thousand,” he huffs.
“Fortunate for you, we only get one, Angelo.” I use his real name to make my point. “Are you living the way you want?”
He takes a drink then leans back, his eyes searching my face, scanning my neck, and landing on my chest. “I’m doing just fine,” he says in a voice a little thicker than just moments ago.
We stare at one another, with me shifting in my seat because I can’t help being incredibly turned on by this man with that hair and body. More so, it’s his mannerisms. He wants to be standoffish. It may work for other people, but I see his pain.
“If you could do anything, what would you do?”
His tongue swipes across his lip as he looks at my lips. “Get the fuck out of Michigan.”
“But you own a gym.”
He slides to the left and stands up. “Excuse me for a minute.”
As he walks away, I see him adjust himself. That’s when I know—well, I think I know—what it is he wants to do.
I look behind me, watching him as he walks to the bathroom. I see women look at him, men look at him. Hell, everyone is looking at him. I know how uncomfortable it must make him.
I remember back to the first three months after Gregory was killed. I was terrified to leave our apartment. The only thing that got me out was that damn class that Melanie wouldn’t let me quit.
I was a bitch and did not deserve her kindness, one of a random stranger. I had only met her two months before the shooting, yet she didn’t give up. There we were, just classmates, but suddenly, she was with me as a support system I never knew I needed. She was at the hospital, and then at my apartment when my parents left, assuring them I would be fine.