I should take it all back. But I don’t.
I want to keep him. But I can’t.
I sip the champagne,
keeping myself from saying shit I’ll regret.
Likestay.
Touch me.
Kiss me.
Don’t leave me.
Instead, I go with:
“… Tony’s back.”
Andrew cocks his head. “Tony?”
I nudge my head past his shoulder. “He’s been standing behind you for like five minutes.”
Andrew's shoulders tense. “Wait—behind me,behind me?”
“Didn’t wanna alarm you,” I mutter into my drink.
He turns slowly,
seeing Two-winged Tony,
who's one foot away, unblinking.
Then he jolts, elbow knocking into the champagne glass. It tips, spins, bounces, rolls off the blanket, and champagne spills.
I cover my mouth to hold my laugh in.
He whips around.
“Yo, why didn’t you say somethin’?!”
I can’t breathe, I’m laughing too hard.
His eyes go wide.
“He was behind me the whole time?”
I suck in a breath—“Five minutes. Minimum.
"Puffin’ up. Givin’ you the death glare.”
His face cracks with betrayal. “I’m sittin’ here spillin’ my guts... and you got Tony postin’ up behind me like the hit’s goin’ down this second?”
“Honestly? You’re onverythin ice, pal.”
A smile breaks across his face. “For what?!”
I drop into my best mob voice:
