Ok… so I had a thing for the devil. Couldn’t help it, I’d always been that way. You could say it was because I deserved the dark side, but– truth is I was bored by small talk and six-inch Subways. I needed mufaletta, tapenade, garlic and lard, pulled pork, bad boys and fat cheese… and if the sandwich was under six bucks, or the guy over six feet, I’d even say “Please.”
I don’t know how Panama, six-two, was mixed up with those girls, but I knew he was damned, for sure. And, God help me, the thought of him still tore. But the guy was f**king with my sister and that was angeled ground. I’d come this far, I’d followed her lead; I couldn’t let my hunger back me down.
Too long I’ve let L.A. dives and risky men mask my defeat. For six years now, I’ve never bought a meal but I pay for everything I eat. Between Teddy’s rules and all the nameless Joes, any guts I had took a back seat. But not today.
As it dawned, I downed two of George’s espressos and one of her mango fritters fresh from the fryer. Sweet crispy dough turned me into a liar for every time I’ve ever said no to the idea that light-full love could set me on fire.
As morning poured through her Tropical windows, bleaching all the ache of last night, I saw… that I didn’t need to quit Panama to make things right. I could use him. If luck, my sister and light could just hold me for awhile, I could turn my poison into medicine. And help those little girls. Maybe.
Rhea.