Ablaze (5 page)

 "You'll have to take the stairs. No
elevator here."

"Rooms are upstairs, not on the tenth
floor, right? I'll just rest for a bit and I'll go upstairs."

His first impression of Angel was totally
off. Given the way she walked in the restaurant, all snappy and in a tizzy, he
expected her to take his offer, complain or boss him around. He'd met enough
spoiled rich girls to know how they act when finding themselves in a situation
like this. But Angel proved to be different. She grew up rich, but right now,
she looked like any woman who came to this restaurant. Simple.

He could tell that she was tired. Dark
shadows beneath her eyes told him she needed a good long sleep. Heck, she'd
probably fall asleep in a minute if she lay down. But Angel didn't make any demands,
whine about being tired or her banged up knees.

Angel sighed and wiggled her toes.

What a poor angel, Dylan thought. Judging by
the look of her heels, he could tell that she dragged them from wherever the
cab driver had dropped her off. He noticed her skin where the pink straps
wrapped around her ankle were red. "Take off your sandals."

"What?"

"Take them off."

"Is that some kind of a rule here?"

Dylan grinned. "No." He went
around the bar and took an empty shallow basin from under the sink. From the
cabinet, he grabbed two hand towels and put them in the basin along with the
medicine kit and a bottle of extra virgin oil. Glancing at Angel, he saw that
she had already unstrapped one sandal. He turned on the faucet and placed one
towel beneath the running water. After wringing out the towel, he hung it on
the side of the basin.

"God, I ruined my heels. These are Yves
Saint Laurent and I bought them for my…"

"For what?"

"Supposedly special occasion."

He guessed she was referring to her
honeymoon. Manfred said Angel and her bastard ex were supposed to go to Hawaii.
The sandals made sense. Dylan walked toward where Angel sat, placed the bucket on
the table, pulled out a chair and positioned it so it was facing Angel. He sat
on the chair, spread the dry towel on his thigh, then bent over to lift Angel's
foot.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking up your offer of a foot rub."

"No!" Angel squealed when his
thumb touched her sole. "I was kidding when I said--stop touching my foot.
You're crazy. You know, in the old days, if you touch a woman's foot, she's
compromised. You'll have to marry her."

Dylan's brows shot way up.

"No. I don't mean that you have to
marry me now. That's ridiculous. But even in this day and age, touching a
stranger's foot is not quite right. What if you're a podophilia?"

"Podophilia," Dylan said blandly.

"Yes. Someone who's sexually interested
in feet. You could be one. I don't know you. Nothing about you."

"My name is Dylan Francis Band. I'm
twenty-nine years old. I love chicken nuggets and popcorn, I hate flying and
cinnamon. Basketball and baseball are my game. Occasionally, I drink beer. I take
showers before I go to bed and sleep in the nude. I'm not a podophilia although
I must admit you have beautiful feet. I spend hours and hours in front of my
laptop. But I assure you, I'm not a child molester and I don't hang out online
to prey on young girls, which is what a
pedophilia
is as opposed to
podophilia. If that's what you're worried about."

Angel sobered up in a hurry. "Manfred
told you."

"Everything."

"He asked you for help, didn't he?"

"He cares for your wellbeing."

"My wellbeing is fine."

"That's why you have dark rings under
your eyes, right." He ignored Angel's scowl. From his experience, when a
woman scowled because he hit the sore spot, it was best to avoid the topic. "We
need to take care of your knees before nasty bacteria, parasites and viruses crawl
in and eat your beautiful knee."

"Ewww!"

"Exactly. So let me do this. I think we
started off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to annoy you." He took
the sanitized gauze out of the plastic packet and dabbed it with saline
solution. "This might sting." He wiped the blood off Angel's cut,
waiting for her to complain. She hissed, but that was it. No whining, no
crying. Good girl, he thought. So far, she proved to be an okay guest.

"Can't believe Manfred told you about
Willy. Minnie told me he's been on the phone almost every day, even late at
night. Most likely talking to you."

"We talk a lot. I'm a night owl. So
maybe."

"How long have you known Manfred?"

"Since last year." He peered at
the small cut on her knee. Not bad. It'll heal in few days.

Angel leaned forward and placed a hand at
the back of her knee. "Wow. Now I look like one of those rough and tough
kind of girls."

With their heads close together, Dylan could
smell her hair. Lavender or something. He moved an inch closer. Oh, yeah,
lavender. "I doubt you'll have a scar." He made a quick assessment of
Angel's legs. No signs of old scars. "Did you play sports in school?"

"No. Manfred didn't let me do any
sports. Except for chess. At home, I play pool."

"You play pool?"

"Yup. A safe sport. You have to be
really stupid to get hurt while playing pool. So, Manfred told you about me."

"He's proud of you. And the man needs
to tell someone about your ex, otherwise, he'd go nuts."

Angel let out a sigh. "He is really
pissed."

"Pissed is an understatement. If he asks
me to lock and load, I'll do it. I want to see that asswipe bleed to death. Any
man who preys on the innocent doesn't deserve to live."

"Killing him wouldn't bring justice to
those girls whose innocence he robbed. If he were to pay for his sins, he needs
to suffer slowly, not die quickly."

Dylan shook his head. "I'm sure the
parents of those poor girls would disagree. Most of them would probably kill
your ex on the spot. I'd do the same. I'll cut him in pieces and then feed his
innards to the pigs."

 "I'll make sure not to piss you off."

 "Just saying. You shouldn't be ashamed
about what happened." When Angel leaned back on the chair again, he caught
himself being pulled as if she was a magnet and he a helpless steel. Damn, what
was it about women and their scent?

"Hard to believe I almost married him.
I thanked God every second that I learned about his true color before it's too
late."

"Every second?"

"And minutes. You know when I first met
him, I thought he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen."

"Beautiful? Damn."

"I know. I don't even know what I saw
in him. Now, his dark brown eyes looked evil to me along with his hair! Ugh! So
stringy and worse than Fabio's long greasy thin hair. I guess I fell for his
smooth-talking style."

"You still love him?"

Angel raised a brow. "You ask an
impertinent question."

"I beg your pardon, but you volunteered
information and I just ask what anyone would want to know."

A faint light twinkled in the depths of her
amazing green eyes. "My flaw. I tend to talk to people nonstop."

"Even to strangers."

"Sadly, yes. I got in so much trouble
at school because my mouth often ran away with me. Willy obviously hated me for
being a chatterbox. Anyway, I don't believe I did love him."

"What makes you say that?" He bet
being an only child, with only her dolls to play with at home, had something to
do with her chatterbox persona.

Angel rubbed her palm gently, her eyebrows
slanted in a frown. "I feel more hurt because of his deception, but not
for losing him. I bet if he told me he wanted to break up and not go through
the wedding, I would have said fine and not get mad at all."

"You think so? Maybe it's the ego that's
blocking the pain of losing him."

"But I don't feel any sense of loss. He
disgusts me now. I don't ever want to see him again. I wish my name would never
come up without attaching to his."

"It will."

"That's not comforting."

"Just telling you the truth."

Angel shook her head. "My God. How long
have I been here? Ten minutes? Not even an hour and I already told you my sad
story. Minnie told me my mouth will lead me down the wrong path if I'm not
careful."

Dylan glanced at her lips. He imagined her
mouth moving toward the
right
path.

"Wait."

"What?" Dylan blinked. Wake up,
dork. Too early to daydream.

 "You're not a tabloid writer are you? If
you are, please don't sell my story."

"I'm not tabloid writer."
Romance
writer, yes.

Dylan was becoming intrigued by Angel. They
just met, not even for a day, and yet she was already laying out her heart's
content on the table. Manfred was right. Angel would talk to anyone willing to
listen.

Her honesty was somewhat stimulating. He bet
she possessed a good heart, which explained why she missed seeing the fucking
idiot's evil side.

He finished cleaning and bandaging Angel's
knee. When he asked for Angel's hands, she hesitated only for a few seconds.
Trusting. Yeah, that she was. Nice trait, but often times, dangerous. He
himself became a victim of trust. Gently, he ran his thumb on the soft flesh of
her palm. They weren't as smooth as he'd expected. In fact, she had working
hands. No thick calluses, though. He turned her hand over to check her nails.
Sure enough, they were short and neatly trimmed. "At least you caught
yourself and didn't land on your face."

"Good Lord. That would have been
humiliating."

"You didn't break your skin, but it looks
tender."

"Yeah."

"Not sore enough to hold a cup of frappuccino?"

"You betcha."

"Okay, let's take care of your feet."
He wiped her shin and foot with the wet cloth while admiring her smooth skin. Before
his imagination runs wild again, he lowered Angel's foot on the floor. "That
one's good. Let's see the other one."

Angel inspected Dylan's work. "Wow. Thank
you. It didn't hurt at all. How did you learn how to fix cuts? Looks like a
doctor fixed this?"

Or a failed wanna be doctor.
"I have four younger brothers. They get hurt a lot
especially when we were younger. So I learned how to fix their owwies to save a
trip to the clinic." He lifted her other foot and started working on the
cut. He was already wiping Angel's leg when the door opened.

Tony came in holding a tray and a box. "Well,
well. You got my cousin to sit down. That's a good start. Here's your coffee
frap and a slice of cake that came with a nice plastic fork. If you want a real
fork, I can get you one." Tony handed the frappuccino to Angel, then put
the tray down on the table.

"Thanks, Tony. Plastic fork is fine."
Angel smiled. Before she took a long sip, she touched the tip of the straw with
her tongue.

Dylan looked away when his mind wandered to
the path of erotic images about what her tongue could do in the bedroom and
paid attention to wiping the thin layer of dust on Angel's heel instead. He took
the bottle of olive oil, twisted the cap and proceeded to pour a small amount
on his palm. After rubbing his hands together, he cupped Angel's foot, then
began massaging it.

"Oh, my God. This is so good."

"What, the foot rub or the frap?"
Tony asked.

Angel looked Dylan in the eye. "Tough
question. I think foot rub is better."

"Dylan cheated. He used olive oil."

"Oh, is that what it is? I didn't know
you can use olive oil for feet."

"It's one of the most versatile
products you can find on the market. This is a good moisturizer filled with
Omega-Three and Omega-Six fatty acids to help keep your skin smoother and
younger."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"And your feet will taste better when
fried."

Angel laughed with Tony. The sound of her
laughter was sweet and contagious. Dylan shook his head and laughed with them.

"I've never been in a restaurant that
provides foot rub."

"Man, you'll love it here. This is the
best restaurant in town. Isn't that right, Dylan?"

Dylan just shrugged. Boasting about the
restaurant being the best never sat well with him. Pacific Northwest Magazine
voted Asian Wok restaurant that was across the street, the best Chinese
restaurant, Sahib was the best in Indian, and Pink Door in Italian food this
year, so calling Pink Door the best in town was obscure.

"Pink Door is the best because you're
the cook, is that it, Tony?"

 "The best handsome cook."

"What about Dylan? What does he do to
help keep this business afloat?"