FRANKIE
Angel walks past me in the bar, her face a blank page. Wait. Didn't I leave her back at her apartment just an hour ago? Why's she here? I follow her outside, the cool air hitting my skin. I grab her hand, turn her to face me.
“Can’t say a simple hi before leaving?” I ask.
She just stares. No words. Just that empty look.
“I’m waiting,” I say, raising a brow. Still nothing.
It hits me then. She knows. She must have heard me in the backroom earlier. I needed to blow off steam, especially after some coward sliced my truck’s tires. All because his girlfriend flirted with me at the shop earlier this afternoon. Pathetic. Next time I see him, he’s done.
“Let go of my hand, please,” Angel says, her voice flat. Her expression is void, but her knuckles are white fists.
“I thought we we
