He didn't expect me to touch him.
And he didn't expect it to hurt.
The whole fucking bet, shattered between us,
not ending in the way I imagined.
I thought I’d break wanting more of him,
not less.
Mikey and Nico glance between us,
unsure whether to step in.
Andrew goes still, staring at me.
Like my hand against his chest sucked all the air out of him.
Then the muscle in his jaw pulses.
His eyes go dark and cold.
All the patience, calmness, kindness drains from his face, leaving the simmering rage he’s been holding down all night.
His head turns, deadly calm, scary slow, eyes locking on the girl who tossed the drink in my face.
Then he’s stepping forward,
chest rising,
veins up his neck.
“Yo—what the fuck is wrong wit’ you, huh?”
His voice cracks out loud, cheeks flushed,
neck red and climbing.
She stands frozen, the straw from her drink idle between her fingers.
Every eye in the room darts to him,
as if they’ve never seen him crack before.
Heads turn. Mouths shut.
Even the music seems confused.
“You mad? Jealous? Insecure? Wish you were her? What is it? You saw someone standin’ there, mindin’ their own fuckin’ business, and your first thought was to throw a fuckin’ drink in their face?”
He stares at her, unbuttoning his shirt.
“That’s weak as fuck. Pathetic. Grow up.”
The moment hangs?—
When the guy we were all watching from earlier breaks from the bar,
