and steals it off my tongue.
“Yeah, I’m good with it.”
His chest caves.
He looks at my mouth, then at me.
He moves in,
holding my gaze and torturing my chest.
Then—
Thunk.
The drinks land in front of us.
I slide the bartender cash,
and just before I slip away,
Andrew's eyes dart to the hundred.
His card.
Me.
The bartender.
Then back to me.
“Yo. Miss Heir to Soundwave, you tryna flex on me now?” he mutters.
Oh, here we go.
Fuck you, Google Knowles.
Should’ve known you’d throw up my past.
Andrew levels me with a gaze.
“I don’t care if we’re pretending, you’re not paying for drinks. Not while you’re with me. Ever.” He stuffs his card back in his wallet angrily, as if it called him a little bitch. “Second—dropping tips like that? You hand a bartender that kind of money, he’s gonna think you wanna fuck him. Guys read that shit the wrong way.” A pause. “I read that shit the wrong way.”
I roll my eyes and start to walk off.
“Whoa, whoa—Allison.”
I stop.
Turn.
He breathes out,
slowing us down a second,
navy eyes settling into mine. “You good?”
No the fuck I’m not.
