FRANKIE
I stand in front of the mirror, a scowl etched on my face. The dark polo shirt clings to every ridge of muscle like a second skin, the ripped jeans are artfully distressed, the worn boots say I don’t try, but I succeed. It’s a costume. The costume of a man who has his s**t together. I look like a fraud. A sexy, broke fraud trying to pass inspection.
I spaced on lunch with Angel's mom - Angel invited me, and I blew it. Caught myself just in time, though - she was already stressed, didn't need me adding to it. A horn blares outside, followed by Angel’s voice calling my name.
Right. The girlfriend. The one who commandeered my truck an hour ago to go “find the perfect outfit.” Now she's here to take me to meet the parents—already acting like what’s mine is hers. The thought should
