“Nah, I'm good."
His smirk tips off balance, dies,
then gets resurrected as a cough of a laugh.
“Cool. Yeah. No worries.”
He nods with a quick glance back at the bar,
wiping his hands down his pants.
“All good—just shootin’ my shot.
“No foul, right?”
I move around him,
eyes on the seat like it’s the edge of the pool.
I sit before my legs give out.
I don’t do this. I don’t dowaiting.
Not for coffee to cool.
Not for a green light.
Not for boys.
So why the fuck am I doing it now?
I breathe in deep, but it doesn’t help.
My pulse is a mess.
I’m sweating and freezing at the same time.
Not a full minute passes when?—
a leather jacket with a highball glass starts his lap toward me.
He gets two feet out,
lifts his drink, opens his mouth?—
I cut him off with lethal eyes and a head shake, and he pivots like he just remembered something important.
The bar sign outside bleeds green through the window as I sit here,
like a fucking Andrew groupie.
But then I sense his gaze.
I don’t look
until his stare lands a second time,
and sinksdeeper.
