throwing a palm up at us. “Nah. Fuck.”
His gaze sweeps the two of us head to toe. “First time Harding ever brings a girl and it’sthisone?” His eyes ricochet off the guy at the other end of the booth, then land back on me. “He drops thebaddestwoman I ever seen into Vicelike it’s nothing?” He laughs, shaking his head. “Yo—game over. You win. Just go.” Heshoosus off, head turned. “Take your hot girl and your stupid, perfect face and leave. I hate you. Respectfully.”
Then there’s a spotlight on me, heating my skin. Like he plugged a mic into my nerves and cranked it.
Now guys within a ten foot radius mark me me as the challenge, girls clock me as competition.
Andrew leans into me. “That’s Nico,” he says. “Ignore half the shit that comes outta his mouth. He’s been like this since birth.”
Nico stares down at me with a raised chin, then squints. “Don’t lie—you got an 850 credit score, huh? Walkin’ in all premium.”
I wave it off. “Nah. I don’t do credit.
“If I want something, I take it.
“I don’t wait for permission.”
Nico stumbles back a step
as if my words turned to gold.
Then he clutches his chest, nudging Andrew.
“I’m rooting for you to fuck this up, bro.
“Or if you love me, you could choke.
“Just this once.
“For me.
“Your boy.”
Andrew shakes his head,
a nervous laugh catching in his throat.
“That’s Jay on bass.” He nods to the guy half-asleep in the hoodie, Vans kicked out, a girl tucked behind him, headphones in, a book cracked open in her lap. “Mae—his girl. Halfway through a murder podcast, zero clue what’s happenin’.”
Jay lifts two fingers in a lazy peace sign.
“Hey.”
Lastly, sitting at the end,
slouched back, feet outstretched:
Gold chain.
Shirt half-buttoned.
Ink splashed across his chest.
Five rings, all flashy.
Dark hair and a fuck-me smirk cocked between a carved jaw.
Andrew nods. “Mikey’s lead guitar.”
