“can’t leave me hanging tonight.”
Andrew shrugs off her hand.
“Nah. Not tonight. I’m good.”
“Oh, c’mon—seriously, Andrew?
“Because one girl gets pissed?"
She laughs. “You’re gonna start caring now?”
Nico, Jay, and Mikey are staring ahead?—
stone-faced, stone-bodied.
Nico’s twiddling his thumbs.
Jay’s foot’s tapping out the beat toI Love Rock 'N Roll.
Mikey’s watching me without watching me.
Just three grown men trying hard not to exist in a silence that screams:
‘This got real… loud.’
And:
‘Nobody’s blinked in thirty seconds.
‘If one of us moves, we all die.’
Talia’s hand slides up his chest to the back of his neck, mouth in his ear—voice sweet, clingy, and purposely loud enough for all of us to hear. “Okay. I’m trying not to be the jealous girlfriend, Andrew—I am. But… you’re the only one who knows how to make me feel better again about this situation we have, you know that?—”
“C’mon… I’m not tryin’ to talk right now,” he starts, voice hushed.
I’m staring at a guy in the crowd wearing a Saints of the Sun tee. Gold sunburst logo cracked down the middle, like it’s been burning too long. Dad’s reaching out to me somewhere from the fibers, saying—You with me, kid? Look at me. You’re okay. Eye on the ball. You got this inning.
I focus on the guy, making him my distraction.
I give him a story to keep me from picturing another girl with Andrew.
He’s sweat-soaked and clinging
like he just fought or fucked.
Dark hair. Wandering eyes. Very expressive.
Let’s call him Mason.
And currently, Mason is dancing with someone he doesn’t want to.
Talia pouts. “Andrew, it’s been seventy-eight days since you’ve touched me… ” Music steals half of what she says. Then—“I’m just asking for one night without you looking away.”
Andrew exhales, shaking his head,
a quick glance around the booth.
“Nah—for real, cut it out.
