“No,” I say. “We’re just gonna talk out here.”
He nods. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Then he steps back to his post,
scanning the street, anticipating threats.
Andrew and I walk off to the side of the awning. Behind a row of hedges and a half-dead topiary, there’s a courtyard no one uses.
A slab of old stone and climbing-ivy,
wrought iron benches tucked into corners.
Andrew’s shadow stretches long behind him, then is thrown against the stone building when he leans a shoulder against it.
I stand in front of him,
far enough we’re not touching,
close enough for him to reach me.
A horn blows in the distance.
And then another.
A cigarette burns a block over.
I fall back on my heel,
glance down at my boots,
suck in a breath.
“You got that look,” he says,
staring down at me,
sole against the stone wall, one knee bent.
“Whatever it is, you can say it to me.”
The wind sneaks through the courtyard,
kissing my exposed neck.
My hair sticks to my lipstick.
I peel it away, exhale,
and finally meet his gaze.
“I’m not stupid. Guy was pissed I told him to fuck off when I first walked in.” I turn to the wind to move the hair from my face. “I don’t know what kind of pissing match you two are in, but I know you. And you’re not stupid enough to hook up where you work.
“Not with all you got goin’ on.”
I peel my hair from my mouth again.
“And if I’m wrong?” I lean in.
