Nico stumbles back, still cackling.
“Friend zonin'her?”
Then he points at Andrew?—
“You the dumbest motherfucker walkin’, bro.”
// 10:32 PM //
Andrew’s leaning against the edge of the booth,
scrolling through his phone,
arm across his chest
after I just served him a full-course disaster.
Starter: wrote a song with Neon Grey.
Main course: groped and hit on by Neon Grey.
Dessert? Surprise. I’m Corey Taylor’s daughter, heir to Soundwave.
But you didn’t tell me either, Andrew.
You didn't tell me your hangout spot is a sex-crazed playground,
or that half the room’s lookin' at you like they already had a taste of you,
and the other half's still tryin'.
You didn't tell me you’d be singing tonight.
So now we’re both standing here,
staring at each other,
two strangers with our pasts between us.
I was fine, too.
For all of five fucking seconds.
I was going to be the bigger person.
Take the high road.
But then he had to stand there all wounded
in the middle of all the secrets he's keeping.
Like he’s the only one who got side-swiped.
Yeah, no. Fuck that.
I’m not about to eat shitandcomfort him.
This time, I’m choosing to stay in my pissery.
