A Crook
"Angel…" the bastard whispered.
Angela used to like how he called her that, but now—a painful tightness in her chest caused her muscles to weaken. Her mind churned so fast, thinking about a hundred ways to give a comeback to his irritating words. After three months of being AWOL, he had the nerve to remark on her choice of drink? That's the first thing he chose to say to her?
She was so pissed to see him that she wanted to lash out, but even the thought of screaming at him made her think it wasn't worthy. 'What for, Angela? You're over him, remember?' she thought. The voice in her head reminded her, yet it sounded as though she wasn't sure.
Her hand subconsciously gripped the warm cup, and for a second, Gael thought that she would throw the hot coffee at him. The way she glared was apparent enough to notice how much she wanted to do so. And if he was being honest with himself, he might even let her if that would make everything better.