“Gimme one sec, I need my fuckin’ glasses,” he says, falling back, walking away from the mic. “Apparently I gottaSEEwhich dumbass’s beggin’ to die tonight.”
Laughter cracks across the floor.
Wes and Jake both glance over at the stage,
hands dropping off me.
Andrew grabs a case from the amp,
pops his glasses on with one hand,
steps back up to the mic.
His gaze narrows in my direction,
a grin rising. “Funny, huh? Man throws on glasses and now y’all remember your manners.”
The crowd laughs again.
Someone whistles.
Someone yells,“YOOO.”
Jake lifts a brow. “That for us?”
I shrug. “Don’t know, hard to tell.”
Wes chuckles. “He your boyfriend?”
“Thoughtyouwere my boyfriend,” I deadpan.
Andrew points at them.
“Eyes only, gentlemen.
“Hands put you in the hospital.”
Another fistful of laughs spill from the crowd.
Jake chuckles,
nudging a thumb toward the stage.
“Wait—we got him all worked up like that?”
Wes’s amused,
smirking as he calls out over the crowd?—
“Oh, that? That wasn’t touchin’ her.
“I couldshowyou touchin her.”
Both guys laugh.
Andrew doesn’t.
He rips the mic from the stand, holding his guitar back with his other hand. “Nah. I ain’t playin’, bro. Keep your fuckin’ hands off her.”
