bodies float toward him,
hovering,
orbiting,
drunk giggles and heels circling,
the number ofsomein my head keeps climbing.
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Fuck.
From the way they’reallwatching him?
I’m convinced he gave the whole room orgasms just by existing.
Andrew’s at the other end of the booth,
foot propped on the ledge, clipboard in hand,
unbothered as the crowd fucks around him.
“Midnight, I’m gone,”
I catch him saying to Jay.
They’re both hunched over the clipboard,
going over the setlist, trimming time.
Then, from behind,
fingers trail up his spine and curl at his waist.
Soft honey-blonde waves.
Big glassy eyes.
Black crop top.
Andrew turns, eyes dropping to her hand that doesn’t belong on him. He starts pulling away, hand’s halfway up, opens his mouth?—
Then his gaze crashes into mine.
And whatever he was going to say
dies in his mouth.
His hand drops,
and he leans back, lets her wrap around him.
