Bab 120: Our Angel

Demyan 

I was glad when I climbed down the jet's stairs, looking like the definition of 'disaster', that instead of a bright green Lamborghini, EJ was leaning against a pearl white BMW X5 smoking his cigarette with what looked like a baby's juice bottle. 

His eyes scanned my body as he took one last puff, dropped it down to the ground then stepped on it to kill it off. "You look like shit," he whistled as he approached, then gently gripped my jaw to inspect my face, "Have you been crying, mate?"

"Don't be so daft," I tried to keep the tone of insult in my voice but it came out like a strangled plea as I physically deflated. 

His teasing grin disappeared quickly as his eyebrows furrowed and he clenched his jaw. "Come on, let's get you home," he opened the car door for me and let me in before he climbed into the driver's side. My bags were so little this time around that they easily fit into the car without a hassle.