Kahlen Aymes - Angel After Dark

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Alex ran a hand through his hair in exasperation as the beautiful girl wheeled her cart away. Fuck! His mind screamed.

Reluctantly, he walked over to his father and brother, glancing over his shoulder as she disappeared down another aisle wishing he could follow. He’d wanted to talk to her so goddamned bad, but he had two problems: his voice was destroyed from yelling at the Blackhawks game with Cole the night before, and he knew he’d come across with a creepy rasp that would be off-putting. And of course, Whitney. Inwardly, he cringed. Her phone call in the middle of his stare-fest with the gorgeous brunette brought him back to reality.

Goddamn it to hell!

Whitney was his girlfriend of sorts, but it didn’t stop his dick from getting hard when presented with someone as beautiful as the girl that just left him. For Christ’s sake! He was gawking after her, looking like a jerk in the middle of the paint aisle.

His father held out some paint samples for him to inspect. He didn’t give two shits about the difference between Almond White and Creamy Vanilla; he doubted his mother would even be able to tell the difference. He didn’t get why his dad didn’t just hire a designer and be done with it. Instead he had to drag him and Cole out on a Sunday afternoon.

He sighed. “Dad, I don’t care,” he rasped out in a whisper. “They’re both white. What does it matter?”

Alex knew this little home improvement project was his father and mother’s attempt to get his brother to spend more time with the family. Cole was the family’s black sheep, lacking responsibility and direction. He’d rather sleep all day than be productive and frankly, Alex was sick of being party to their attempts to make him change. Their father refused to cut him loose despite Alex’s urging. His little sister, Allison, was the princess and Alex was left with the majority of the responsibility.

He glanced around again, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of the woman’s purple shirt between the aisles. His heart stopped when he’d seen her; she was extremely pretty, despite her simple dress and lack of make-up. He felt inexplicably drawn to her and couldn’t resist walking closer, leaving his dad and Cole behind him to select the swatches. His heart sped up, and naturally, his dick woke up in instant arousal. She was perfect. Her breasts round and full, her hips gently swelling and her long, shapely legs, bare. There was a softness about the stranger that Alex found extremely appealing, like he could sink into her and they would melt together, yet there was a tiger behind her expression. Alex found the combination intriguing and unpretentious, which made Whitney seem fake in comparison.

With Whitney, it’d become like fucking a Barbie doll; hard and grasping. He found himself wondering how this beauty in Home Depot’s skin would feel under his touch, how she would smell up close, and if her lips were as luscious as they looked. Maybe his intense interest in this random meeting signaled it was time to end it with Whitney, but he liked the convenience of their arrangement.

Alex had a moment’s pause at how callous that sounded, even in his own mind, but their relationship was not about feelings and never had been. But the sex accomplished what he needed, and she provided arm candy when he had an event to attend. He was always so hellish busy, that romantic complications were not something he needed to take on.

His father and brother’s chatter with the clerk faded into the background as he considered trying to find the woman and strike up a conversation, maybe get her number. His hand swiped over the dark stubble on his jaw. As much as he wanted to, it wouldn’t be right to do so while he was still technically committed. It wouldn’t be fair to Whitney, another woman, or frankly, to himself. That wasn’t the type of man he wanted to be and he had little time for those who were. He may not be in love with Whitney… maybe he didn’t even believe in love, but he’d be damned if he’d break his word or be a cad.

Dr. Angeline Hemming pushed the headphones off of her head in agitation and threw them down with a clang. The damn things itched, they were heavy and terribly awkward. She felt like they were three sizes too big.

“Ugh,” she groaned. She’d been doing the weekly radio show for six weeks already and sometimes questioned her decision. This wasn’t her. She was a clinical psychologist, for God’s sake. She spent her days getting paid $450 per hour to help people deal with real life problems, not make spectacles of themselves in a public forum.

She’d worked her ass off to get where she was, literally and figuratively. Growing up poor, she had few prospects and opportunities like Northwestern University didn’t just happen for girls from Joplin, Missouri. Her father, Joseph, was the janitor at the high school and Angel’s mother had run off when she was a baby, leaving a broken man without the skills needed to handle an infant. Angeline had her share of bumps since then, but with a lot of smarts and guts, she’d managed to make something of herself. Now, she was in a position to take care of her father financially and to use her education to help people. Really help people. This radio gig… this was fluff, but it served a purpose, and it helped take her mind off of the more dangerous characters she dealt with on a regular basis.

“Angel, what’s the problem?” her producer, Darian Keith, asked. He was clearly impatient with her as she ran her hand through her long dark hair, scratching her scalp in reaction to the headphones. Darian was a great guy and professional, as far as she knew about him, which wasn’t much. A slender African American, he was dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt under his dark blue blazer. He had an easygoing demeanor that Angel instantly liked.

She smirked at his mocking tone, as she pushed the necessary buttons on the computer to play the commercials and cue up the next song. The phone lines in front of her began blinking red.

“It’s just… Well, so many of these callers are so freaking naïve! Most of them are women, which I know is to be expected, but it burns my ass how they let men treat them the way they do! Gah!” She reached for a big sports bottle full of ice water that she kept on the desk at all times and took a long drink.

Darian chuckled softly, causing Angel to shoot him a caustic look.

“What?” she asked impatiently.

“As we promote it more, men will call, and you’ll have perspective from both sides. Guys struggle with relationships, too.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “I know, Darian. I do have a doctorate in clinical psychology. I get that men and women are equally screwed up; don’t worry.”

She was a slight young woman with delicate facial features, luminous skin, and thick, flowing chestnut locks that had a soft auburn sheen to them in certain light. She looked too young to be a high-powered force in Chicago’s child abuse network, yet her evaluations of suspects and victims could make or break a court case. Angel was proud of her work and had been somewhat hesitant when Darian proposed she host a late night radio show about relationships on his soft-rock formatted station. At first she’d scoffed, tapping her expensive high-heeled Prada’s on the gleaming cherry wood floor and crossing her arms over her navy blue Givenchy suit, openly mocking the opportunity.

It had taken some convincing, but eventually she’d given in, thinking it would be fun and much more lighthearted than her nine-to-five gig. Mostly, it was his promise to donate airtime to domestic and child abuse public service announcements that clinched her decision. It was a damn good thing she’d agreed to the trade. The station would go broke paying up, despite the advertising revenues increasing during her time slot, 10 PM to 2 AM every Friday night.

“Lighten up, Angel. This is all in good fun and to improve ratings.” He smirked.

Christina Michaels, the rookie production intern, knocked on the window, and Angel glanced her way. She was blonde and spunky, a tomboy of sorts with short hair and a turned-up nose. Holding up two fingers, she indicated that they would go back on air in a couple of minutes. “Line three, Angel.”

As Angel grabbed the offending headset and mashed them down over her ears, Darian admired the way her firm breasts pressed against the front of her white T-shirt as her arms lifted. She looked a million miles away from the polished, aloof woman he’d met five months earlier in her office downtown. He mentally shook himself. She was damn sexy. So confident and self-assured, yet her curves were soft and womanly.

Darian was slightly chagrined because Angel seemed untouchable and too good to be true. It didn’t matter anyway; he was her boss, and there was no way he could date her, even if she allowed it. He consoled himself by considering that looking at her alone made missing his normal Friday boy’s night out worth it. After she and Chris got the hang of what he expected, he’d be able to skip being in the studio if he wanted. Somehow his buddies weren’t as appealing as they once were. He sighed in regret.

Darian adjusted his own headphones. “Okay, counting down: five, four…” He held up his hands and used his fingers to communicate the rest. Three, two, one, he signaled for her to begin.

“Hello, it’s 12:35 AM and this is Angel After Dark, taking your calls for advice and dedications, here with Christina Michaels, screening your calls and our producer, Darian Keith.” Angel’s sultry voice purred into the microphone as she pushed one lit-up button on the phone in front of her. “Hello, you’re on the air. Do you have a question? Or, maybe a confession?”

Darian’s ears perked up, and he began to write furiously on the legal pad next to him. Jesus, she was hot.

“Hello, is this Dr. Hemming?” a woman’s timid voice asked on the other end of the phone. “Am I on the air?”

“Yes. This is Angeline. What can I help you with tonight?” Dr. Hemming seemed so formal for this type of venue and somehow, being called Angeline or Angel made it more acceptable that she was using her education in a less professional way. She inwardly cringed at the thought.

The woman’s voice cracked as she sobbed softly into the phone. “My boyfriend… I found out—he’s married!”

Oh, hell! Angel thought and pointed to the headset, mouthing the word ‘See?’ to the man sitting opposite her. Darian smiled and plopped back in his chair with a sardonic look on his face as he carefully watched Angel’s facial expressions change from disgust to calm acquiescence.

“What is your name, honey?” Angel’s voice took on the reserved, placating tone she used on the air.

“Celeste. What should I do?”

She sounded very young. Angel was only 28, but hell, this girl sounded like she was barely out of high school. Angel’s heart ached for the young woman’s plight, wondering how any woman would ever get involved with a man who wasn’t available.

Oh, that’s right. Men lie.

Her professional alter ego mentally bitch slapped her to reinforce she wasn’t supposed to stereotype. This wasn’t about her own experiences with men, it was about this poor girl on the phone. She swallowed before continuing.

“That’s a very pretty name. I’m very sorry you’re going through that. I could ask you a lot of background about the situation, but it won’t change the fact that he’s married. He had no business messing with you under these circumstances. It wasn’t fair to you or his wife.”

“But… but, he said he loves me… I didn’t mean…” she cried—“I didn’t know!”

“Celeste, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but this is a self-destructive position you’re in. People say things in the heat of passion to get things they want, but deep down they may not mean them.” Angel winced as the sobbing on the phone increased but she pressed on. “How did you find out?”

“His wife called me. She found my number in his cell phone. I thought it was him when I answered, and it was horrible.” Angel sat back in her chair and sighed heavily. She wanted to rant at the girl for being so fucking stupid. “She called me a whore. But he said he was going to leave her.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“When I confronted him.”

Angel’s eyebrows raised in an expression of incredulity. Then she shook her head in disbelief. Oh, for Christ’s sake, she thought.

“And you’re still seeing him?” When met with silence, Angel continued. “Celeste, I’m here to help you. So, I want you to see that he is making a choice, just like you are. You have a choice here, too.”