“Didn’t know you could do that.”
He clears his throat.
“You always tune this way?”
“Yeah,” I say, distracted, leaning in to the guitar. “It’s faster. No amp needed. You just gotta listen with your body. Keep doing that? Makes you better—no lie.”
Mikey laughs under his breath.
“Yeah. My body’s sayin’ plenty right now, trust me.”
Behind me, Andrew coughs into his fist,
then clears his throat.
Mikey smirks, leaning closer, mouth to my ear.
“I don’t usually get in the middle’a shit. But I ain’t blind. Known Harding a while, and I ain’t ever seen him like this. He don’t let girls touch him. Yo—he don’t even look. Now he’s lettin’ her crawl all over him? Nah. He’s lettin’ it ride ‘cause you’re standin’ right here, watchin’. He’s losin’ it. So fuck it—lets make him sweat. You and me—bar, corner, a smoke. Make him wonder. See if we can get him to crack.”
I cock a brow.
Crack him? I want to fucking shatter him.
I want him raging and wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
Because if I’m going to drown tonight,
Andrew’s damn well going under too.
Mikey flicks his eyes up at me.
“C’mon, Allie. Walk with me.”
I pull back, sliding off the cushion.
Mikey sets his guitar on the seat next to him,
then stands, towering over me,
fixing his waistband as he peers down at me.
“You smell fuckin’ insane, by the way.
“That vanilla shit? Jesus.”
He says it with a smirk,
loud enough for Andrew to hear.
Then he tosses his gaze up at him behind me
and flicks a lazy finger at the guitar.
“Yo, Harding. Mind tuckin’ my girl in?
“Gotta handle somethin’.”
Mikey, babe, you reckless little shit…
