True Confessions: The Green-Eyed Monster

Cordelia Chase emerged from the small office area just off the Hyperion lobby, a crisp check clutched triumphantly in one hand and a look of pure victory on her face. The blonde client had been sitting right there in one of the lobby chairs, all tacky fake fingernails and push-up bra, trying to sweet-talk her way out of paying. Cordelia had leaned in, smiled sweetly, and plucked the check straight from the woman’s manicured fingers before she could blink.

Angel was on the red couch nearby, newspaper in hand, blue mug resting on the side table. He looked up as she approached, one eyebrow lifting.

“Victory?” he asked, voice low and amused.

“Total domination.” Cordelia dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that her knee brushed his thigh, and kicked off her heels. “That hussy thought she could bat her eyelashes and walk out without paying. I told her exactly where she could shove her ‘alternative payment plan.’ Check’s right here. Paid in full. With interest.”

Angel set the paper aside. “Impressive. I was ready to write it off.”

“Never underestimate Cordelia Chase when money’s involved.” She poured herself coffee from the carafe, added cream, and took a victorious sip. The adrenaline still hummed through her. “God, I love when they underestimate me. Especially the blondes. They’re always the worst.”

Angel turned his head, studying her. “Blondes?”

She waved a hand, but the words kept coming. “You know. The type. All shiny hair and pouty lips and zero brain cells. Like that client. Or Buffy. Or that skanky vampire chick last month. Or half the demons who throw themselves at you like you’re the last pint of O-negative in the fridge.”

The air between them shifted. Angel didn’t laugh. “Cordy…”

“Don’t ‘Cordy’ me. It’s not like I’m wrong.” She nudged his thigh with her knee. “I just hate how they look at you. Like they can have you. Like I’m not even in the room.”

Angel was quiet for a moment, thumb tracing slow circles on the back of her hand where it rested near his. “It’s not just the blondes who come onto me.”

Cordelia blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Reluctantly, she admitted, “Okay… fine. It’s not just blondes. But they irk me the most.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “I like it when you get fired up like that.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “That’s just the vampire thing talking.”

“Maybe.” His fingers slid up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering against her cheek. The touch was light, careful, but the look in his eyes was anything but casual. “Still like it.”

The confession hung there, honest and unadorned. Cordelia’s pulse picked up. She didn’t pull away.

Angel’s hand stayed where it was, thumb brushing her jaw. “If every blonde that walks through the door is going to get you this worked up, maybe you should let me handle the blondes.”

Her eyes narrowed, but there was heat behind it. “Don’t test me, mister.”

He held her gaze, something shifting in his expression—honesty pushing further than he usually let it. “What about the brunettes? Sometimes they—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, he leaned in, closing the last of the distance until his lips brushed hers when he spoke, feather-light and electric. “Sometimes they’re worse.”

Cordelia’s breath hitched. Her hand had found its way to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm, far too calm compared to the wild staccato of her own. His eyes had gone dark, locked on hers like nothing else in the lobby existed. The space between their mouths was gone—nothing but shared breath and the razor-thin edge of what they weren’t quite saying yet.

Neither of them moved.

The tension stretched, thick and sweet and almost unbearable, while the rest of the Hyperion faded around them.

The End.

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