don’t fear a fight with anybody, it’s still nice to know someone’s got your back.
During the drive to LA, I remember about the missing-kids network and that we never checked to see if my old name is on it.
But it’s waited three years. It can wait another day. The stuff that is happening now is so much more critical.
Zero texts me with an offer to cook dinner for us when we get into the city, which is crazy because he can’t even cook macaroni and cheese. I figure he’s going to pick up something premade and stick it in some dishes. But when Colt and I get to his apartment, the aroma of baking chicken and garlic has filled the room.
“This smells great,” Colt says as he helps me out of my jacket and hands it to Zero. “I didn’t realize you were an accomplished cook as well as a performer.”
“He’s not,” says a voice from the other room.
My jaw drops as Angel Wild appears in the doorway of the kitchen. He holds a spatula and wears an apron that says “Kiss the cook.”
Last I heard, Zero was proclaiming his moment with Angel a one-nighter. “Not oil and water after all?” I ask him, referring to his last comment about his and Angel’s compatibility.
“Oh, no, oil and vinegar,” Angel says, totally getting what I’m saying. “Like the best vinaigrettes.”
Zero’s face flushes red. Angel leans over to peck his cheek like a grandmother. “It’s taken a lot of effort to get him to see the light.” He heads back into the kitchen.
Colt tries to hold back a smirk. Zero rocks back on his heels. He’s dressed even nicer than usual, a collared shirt beneath a sweater, khakis, and shined-up dress shoes. He obviously cares what Angel thinks.
He also seems keen to change the conversation. “So, you feeling okay, Jo Jo?” he asks. “I can’t believe one of those nasty fighter girls accosted you at your own home.” He leads me over to the sofa.
“I’m fine. Nothing worse than what can happen in the cage.”
“No coffee tables in the cage,” Colt says, sitting next to me.
Angel reappears with two wine glasses filled with something red. “For relaxing,” he says, holding them out to us.
Colt and I respond at the same time, “Oh, no, we’re training.” We look at each other and laugh.
Angel clinks the glasses together. “Finishing each other’s sentences is just around the corner.” He holds them out again. “Red wine is good for you. It’s practically health food.”
When Colt accepts the glass to be gracious, I take the other. I’ve had maybe two drinks in my life. I don’t like feeling I don’t have total control. But maybe tonight I should lighten up a little.
By the time Angel calls us over to Zero’s dining table, I’ve finished the wine. The room shifts a little faster than I expect as I stand up. Colt catches my elbow. “You okay there, Jo?”
I look down at the empty glass. “I think I’ve had enough.”
Colt chuckles. “Probably so.”
But when we sit down, Angel fills my glass again. I push it aside with no intention of drinking it, but partway through the meal, I notice I’ve been sipping from it. I set it even farther away.
Everything feels dreamy, soft and easy. Zero seems so happy. I keep catching glances between him and Angel. I’m glad he has changed his mind about him. Colt keeps a hand on my knee under the table. It helps me feel steady and secure.
Angel is a good cook. The chicken is tender and flavorful. He’s been careful to serve plenty of steamed vegetables too, as if he knows what Colt and I should eat.
I have a feeling my days with Zero and our randomwiches might be over. I suppose we could always build our crazy combination sandwiches with leftovers just for fun. Life is changing for all of us, for the better. I’m not sad to see those hard days go.
Colt’s phone buzzes. He ignores it out of good manners, but then it buzzes again.
“Big fighter hero man, get your phone,” Angel says. “It might be Muhammad Ali or
During the drive to LA, I remember about the missing-kids network and that we never checked to see if my old name is on it.
But it’s waited three years. It can wait another day. The stuff that is happening now is so much more critical.
Zero texts me with an offer to cook dinner for us when we get into the city, which is crazy because he can’t even cook macaroni and cheese. I figure he’s going to pick up something premade and stick it in some dishes. But when Colt and I get to his apartment, the aroma of baking chicken and garlic has filled the room.
“This smells great,” Colt says as he helps me out of my jacket and hands it to Zero. “I didn’t realize you were an accomplished cook as well as a performer.”
“He’s not,” says a voice from the other room.
My jaw drops as Angel Wild appears in the doorway of the kitchen. He holds a spatula and wears an apron that says “Kiss the cook.”
Last I heard, Zero was proclaiming his moment with Angel a one-nighter. “Not oil and water after all?” I ask him, referring to his last comment about his and Angel’s compatibility.
“Oh, no, oil and vinegar,” Angel says, totally getting what I’m saying. “Like the best vinaigrettes.”
Zero’s face flushes red. Angel leans over to peck his cheek like a grandmother. “It’s taken a lot of effort to get him to see the light.” He heads back into the kitchen.
Colt tries to hold back a smirk. Zero rocks back on his heels. He’s dressed even nicer than usual, a collared shirt beneath a sweater, khakis, and shined-up dress shoes. He obviously cares what Angel thinks.
He also seems keen to change the conversation. “So, you feeling okay, Jo Jo?” he asks. “I can’t believe one of those nasty fighter girls accosted you at your own home.” He leads me over to the sofa.
“I’m fine. Nothing worse than what can happen in the cage.”
“No coffee tables in the cage,” Colt says, sitting next to me.
Angel reappears with two wine glasses filled with something red. “For relaxing,” he says, holding them out to us.
Colt and I respond at the same time, “Oh, no, we’re training.” We look at each other and laugh.
Angel clinks the glasses together. “Finishing each other’s sentences is just around the corner.” He holds them out again. “Red wine is good for you. It’s practically health food.”
When Colt accepts the glass to be gracious, I take the other. I’ve had maybe two drinks in my life. I don’t like feeling I don’t have total control. But maybe tonight I should lighten up a little.
By the time Angel calls us over to Zero’s dining table, I’ve finished the wine. The room shifts a little faster than I expect as I stand up. Colt catches my elbow. “You okay there, Jo?”
I look down at the empty glass. “I think I’ve had enough.”
Colt chuckles. “Probably so.”
But when we sit down, Angel fills my glass again. I push it aside with no intention of drinking it, but partway through the meal, I notice I’ve been sipping from it. I set it even farther away.
Everything feels dreamy, soft and easy. Zero seems so happy. I keep catching glances between him and Angel. I’m glad he has changed his mind about him. Colt keeps a hand on my knee under the table. It helps me feel steady and secure.
Angel is a good cook. The chicken is tender and flavorful. He’s been careful to serve plenty of steamed vegetables too, as if he knows what Colt and I should eat.
I have a feeling my days with Zero and our randomwiches might be over. I suppose we could always build our crazy combination sandwiches with leftovers just for fun. Life is changing for all of us, for the better. I’m not sad to see those hard days go.
Colt’s phone buzzes. He ignores it out of good manners, but then it buzzes again.
“Big fighter hero man, get your phone,” Angel says. “It might be Muhammad Ali or
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