Andrew’s whole face reacts.
“Yo—watch your mouth, Elle.”
His gaze cuts into her—“Don’t fuckin’ like that shit.”
Then—
as if someone hit pause,
the moment tenses,
the air goes stiff.
Elle’s eyes snap to Andrew.
Then me.
Then back again.
No one says shit.
Elle lands on me again.
“Do you evenwantto hang out with him?”
I open my mouth. But?—
“She does,” Andrew says, watching me.
Elle throws her hand at me.
“You literally just met him.”
Andrew lifts his chin, eyes still on me. “Fuck the birthday dinner. Roger’s dead. He’ll understand.”
He smirks, but longing traces around his eyes.
“Let’s get tacos.”
My head snaps back to him. “Tacos? Really? You’re gonna do this to me with tacos?”
“Like, the good kind,” he leans in,
“Cilantro. Extra lime. Minimal bullshit.”
My brow spikes.
“But if there’s no fresh jalapeño, I walk.”
“Allison,” he says, serious,
“if it’s not fresh,
“it’s not goin’ anywhere near your mouth.”
Goddamn it.
My grin hits before I can fight it,
