Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga) by E. Van Lowe Read Free Book Online Page A

paying.
    The gallery itself had stark white walls, shiny hardwood floors, soft, oval-shaped lighting, and chocolaty suede benches that gave it a sense of elegance. Armando was a man of taste.
    When we arrived, the gallery was already humming with fashionably dressed men and women, sipping champagne and chatting in the kind of hushed tones that made them all seem important.
    “Oh, my. I feel a bit underdressed,” Suze whispered as we squeezed in.
    “Are you kidding? You look great.” She was wearing a simple black spaghetti-strap dress and open-toed sandals with a tiny spiked heel. Her hair was down around her shoulders setting off her blue eyes. She really did look amazing. I, on the other hand, was wearing the patchwork blazer I’d gotten for my birthday, my favorite jeans, and brown boots, perfect for an art opening—if it were at my school. But here, among the fashionistas, I was the one who was underdressed.
    “Suze, Megan. There you are.” Armando’s velvet voice rang out from somewhere in the crowd. Suddenly he was by our side, wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt, his black hair gleaming, eyes sparkling. He was gorgeous as usual.
    “I was hoping you’d come,” he said sweetly to my mother.
    “Stop it.” She was blushing.
    “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking of nothing but you.”
    What a load of bunk
, I thought.
He’s got this big art opening, surrounded by all these rich, beautiful people, and he’s thinking about my mother. Yeah, right!
I wondered if she was laughing as hard on the inside as I was.
    I looked at her. She was still blushing.
    “Oh, Mando!” she cried, giving him a playful shove.
    Mando? Since when had it become Mando?
    “I have to introduce you around,” he said, taking her hand. “You must meet everyone.” He turned to me. “You
will
be all right without her for a few minutes, won’t you?” He was making it clear I wasn’t invited to meet
everyone
.
    “Yeah, umm sure,” I replied. I was caught off guard, but truth be told, the last thing I wanted was to be dragged around meeting boring, stuffy, over-thirty, artsy-fartsy types. “Enjoy,” I added.
    “Seriously, hon. You gonna be okay?” Suze asked, her eyes betraying the fact she obviously wanted to go.
    “Yes, of course. I—” And before I could utter another word, Armando had whisked her away. They were instantly swallowed up by the crowd.
    I grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Hey, no one said I couldn’t drink. Besides, I’m not the designated driver. That’s probably because I’m fifteen and don’t have my license yet, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t take the champagne to drink it. I took the champagne because I needed something help me look cool and suave. Obviously, my patchwork jacket wasn’t doing the trick.
    I began strolling about, observing the art, but I couldn’t take my mind off the way my mother had said
Mando
. It sounded as if they had somehow become friends. But how? When?
    She hadn’t gone on a date with him.  I was certain of that. She hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night for a late night rendezvous. Still, I had the sneaking suspicion my mother was seeing Armando behind my back.
    I wandered around aimlessly, my eyes roaming over the paintings and sculptures. I saw none of them.  I was too busy constructing imaginary scenarios of my mother sneaking off to be with Armando. And I know I said that parents should sneak out behind their kid’s backs. But not with gorgeous playboys who might steal their hearts, leaving them high and dry for their poor daughters to peel off the floor.
    “Oh, Mando, you are so bad.” My mother’s voice jolted me back to the present.
    I looked up and saw them across the room in a cluster of beautiful art lovers. Her hand rested comfortably on Armando’s shoulder, and one of his brushed against her hip.
    She was smiling. I don’t ever remember seeing my mother smile like that before. It was a warm,