Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

me.  Besides, I my size and my crooked features weren’t enough to drive her away, I’m too old for her.
    I clear my throat and shake my legs out. Those thoughts are driving gallons of blood into my dick, and the last thing I want is to really scare her.
    So I settle for just hovering around her, coming in here on the pretense of getting my posters framed.  But sooner or later I’m going to run out of posters. And then I’m not sure what I’ll do, because I can’t imagine not having her in my life.
    “So, same as usual?  You just want me to pick out what I think looks best?”  She shifts on her hip behind the counter and looks up to meet my eye.  She has this way of widening her eyes when she looks up from under her lashes, like she’s not sure I’m real.
    I lick my lips. “Yes.” Her body shifts and sways under her clothing as she moves, filling in the fabric with round softness.  I like how she dresses.  It’s sweet, simple, never showing too much or being garish.  Almost always skirts and simple dresses.  Her favorite outfit is the one she’s wearing today. A yellow skirt with some white lace at the bottom, a white blouse that she buttons to the top and a pair of red and white polka dot Keds with rainbow sparkling laces. 
    How do I know what her favorites are?  Because I’ve been following her. 
    Yes.  Probably by the legal definition it’s stalking.
    Jesus, I’m so far gone I don’t even recognize myself.
    The groan that comes up from somewhere in my toes as I think about her makes me uncomfortable, and I swallow and look away just to regain some composure.  I lose the fight and my eyes snap right back to her.
    Her eyes flash up at me with a flicker of amusement.  I want to light her face with a smile to match but I’m no comedian.
    I need to say something. “So, how are you doing?”  Stupid question.  “I mean...”  Around her, words become like calculus problems after a fifth of tequila.  “I’m sorry.  I’m trying to ask if you’re doing okay.  I mean, with your mom and Cherokee.  I worry about you.  You look like you need to eat.  Are you eating okay?”  She gives me a quizzical look; my questions have turned to something more paternal over the last few weeks and I can tell it puzzles her.
    In the ninty-four days since I walked in here, she completely up ended my program.  In that time, we’ve actually shared a lot about ourselves.  Secured an unusual bond which for me builds with every passing day.  I need to know everything about her life.  I can’t stop myself.  I admit, I’m obsessed.  And jealous as fuck.  I nearly snap when anyone other male looks her way.
    It wasn’t more than a month after I’d been coming in I asked her what she did over the previous weekend. She mentioned she’d been out Friday night with the gal that works with her, Andrea.  I immediately asked her where they went, who else they were with, what time she got home, who drove, if they were drinking.  I bordered on fatherly interrogation.  I felt it was my right.  My obligation to know everything.
    When she told me there was some jack-off that tried to follow her to the ladies’ room, I jumped to my feet and from the way she startled at my sudden movement, I think I scared her.  Her green eyes darkened and her bottom lip quivered for just a second.  Thank Christ she quickly tagged onto her story that she’d managed to lose the guy and dragged Andrea out of there, because I was already imagining tracking the little fuck down and teaching him some manners. 
    Then, twenty-seven days ago, I stopped in just because I couldn’t fight the urge to see her, to hear her voice.  Usually I call first to make sure she’s here, but I was in the neighborhood and had to come inside, my obsession getting the better of me. I keep a couple of posters in my trunk, just for such occasions. 
    Only, that day when I came in, the guy that must be the manager told me she would be gone for a