#Chapter8
As Ronan flicked his tongue out, catching the dribble of honeycomb ice cream that was snaking down the plastic casing of his iced frappe, he watched Angel out the corner of his eye. The big guy had sprawled in one of the coffee shop's comfy chairs, his long arms dangling over the sides. And although his eyes had slid shut, his face angled towards the window, drinking in the cold rays of the blossoming day, Ronan knew without a doubt that he was still focused on him.
And for as much as he was grateful for everything he'd done for him today, a sense of dread had embedded itself deep into his gut. He knew that a conversation was brewing. Could see it in Angel's eyes every time he'd steal a look at him when he thought he wasn't looking, or the way his lips would press thin, as though trying not to say what was on his mind.
