Andrew stares at me, eyes blank.
“Two-winged Tony,” he mutters. “Course it fuckin’ is.” He looks back over at the bird. “Nah—look at the way he’s eyein’ me. Thinks he’s got it like that. Like he knows your middle name and where you sleep."
Andrew raises his glass,
exhaling like he’s seen enough.
“Yeah. He’s gotta go.”
My laugh cracks free without a fight.
His gaze lingers, grin full of heat.
Then his chin ticks up.
“So, what’s your middle name?”
“Mmm. Ask Tony. He’s the only man who’s earned it.” I smirk into my glass. “Try puttin’ a claw on my thigh next time I’m cryin’ and call me pretty. Maybe you’ll get it too.”
He holds my eyes, smirk cutting?—
“Yeah? And what do I get if I make you moan instead?”
I drop my head to the side, the wind pulling my hair. “Make me moan all you want, but the only name comin’ out of my mouth? Won’t be mine, Andrew. It’ll be yours.”
His smile stumbles,
falls halfway off his face,
eyes dragging to my lips.
“You don’t even know,” he whispers,
groan laced in.
“The way you say my name?
“Fuck me,Sonny...”
I scoop my hair up off my neck,
catching strays the wind keeps stealing.
“Don’t melt on me now.”
The moment suspends, all sexual craving in my clit. I squeeze my thighs together to shove the urge back, glancing past him. “Tony’s judging you, by the way.”
Andrew turns—“What, him?”
He grabs a blueberry and chucks it at Tony.
“Move it along, buddy. She’s mine tonight.”
Tony doesn’t budge.
He stares, unblinking. A statue. A sociopigeon.
Andrew stares back at him.
