“So this is a fuckin’ blast,” I say, hand flying.
“Street full of girls knowin’ your name,
“your plans,
“your bicep?—
“probably your dick.”
My voice snaps in half at the end.
I turn away from him,
dropping my closed fist on my forehead,
furious at myself for letting it out,
as if all this shit’s bothering me.
But it does. It does. It does.
And I fucking hate that it does.
He steps in closer, tries to catch my gaze.
“They’re just girls from Vice.
“I used to fill in when Matty or Mikey bailed.
“And yeah—hooked up some.”
I try to think first.
Rare move.
Doesn’t matter, brain’s got nothin’.
He searches my face. “You good?”
I nod.
Then I'm shaking my head.
“Nah. Not good.”
I should’ve swallowed the words.
Should’ve choked on them and died.
But they’re bleeding out of me.
“See the problem I’m having isn’t some girls sayin’hi.”
That’s a lie.
A massive,
chest-punching,
