stomach-hollowing problem
festering beneath the other big problem.
But sure,
let’s pretend I’m cool and mature and moved on.
“It’s that you asked me to meet you here—home of your hookups. Where the whole fuckin’ street’s got a hard-on for you.” My eyes bounce between his. “I’m confused—why the fuck did you want me to meet you here of all places? What exactly did you want me to see?”
Worry rises in his eyes as he finally sees the scene from my side of the glass.
“You think I want you doubtin’ me? No fuckin’ way.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to give you the results myself, aight? Been runnin’ since fuckin’ dawn. Hotel, bar, now here. This was the only window I had.”
He drags a palm across his mouth.
“It’s been two days, Sonny. Before that? Ten.
“I just wanted to fuckin’ see you.”
The wind takes my hair again.
I sweep it off my face, hold the strands back.
“Andrew.” I squint at him.
“You playin’ tonight?”
He exhales, shoulders sinking.
“Yeah.”
I nod.
“Wow.”
Another laugh slips out.
It's the same as the last one, dead on arrival.
“I’m the dumbest person on the fuckin’ sidewalk tonight.”
I turn against the cold,
breathe it in deeply to soothe the burn.
Or at least put my heart on ice, freeze it,
bring it back to life when it stops bein’ a fuckin’ idiot.
“Lemme get this straight.” I smirk. “You lure me down here, hand me your test results like a backstage pass to your tongue, then shove me off the curb right before you go play rockstar for some girls you’ve fucked?”
I point toward Vice.
Like I know where the fuck it is.
“What? Only people who’s takin’ a ride on Saint Drew’s dick allowed inside?”
Andrew’s shaking his head,
