Chapter 4 Baby, Please Don’t Go
AEROSMITH
Elle stands there,
watching her own name fall out of his mouth
like it was a question, a guess,
or the wrong name.
But it wasn’t. I don’t think.
With her arms crossed—
“You forgot my name?”
Andrew’s exhale is cut up around the edges.
“No,” he says too fast and defensive.
Then there’s silence.
I sip my coffee,
minding my business,
wondering if this silence’ll last longer than that one time he forgot her name.
Elle grips her hip.
“It took you a second.”
Andrew pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake, it was like two seconds—c’mon.”
I cough. “More like five.”
Andrew’s eyes slice to me.
“Appreciate the assist, Son—”
He halts, catching the second half of my name,
swallowing down ‘ny.’
“Allison,” he says,
stretching it out.
“Really savin’ me here.”
I smile, sweet and innocent—
“Huh. Would you look at that?” I say,
hand to heart. “Mine made the cut.”
His head tips back,
a guilty grin crawling across his face.
Then his head falls toward me again,
his mouth caught in a smile he can’t shake.
“You got a real smart mouth, you know that?”
Elle clears her throat,
chopping the moment in half,
and we rip our gazes from each other.
Andrew stands taller,
scanning between us,
re-centering.
“Right. Uh—Allison.”
He says it smooth, calm,
the way a loaded gun pretends to be
until you grab it.
“This is Elle.”
His eyes fly back to her. “Elle, Allison.”
Elle turns to Andrew, smile frozen in place, hiding fangs. “Since Andrew conveniently left out a word,” she says,
aiming her hostile smile at me.
“Hi, I’m Elle.
“His girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
Cool, cool.
The one fucking time I don’t dip out early,
New York throws up a middle finger.
And I’m supposed to smile back
as if I didn’t feel that land in my gut.
My gaze falls to the floor.
Andrew freezes next to me,
a stutter in his breath,
the word wiping the expression off his face.
Then his head swings to me, fast.
“She’s—nah. Nah, no fuckin’ way.”
A single laugh leaves him, then a full-body no.
“That’s not what this is, aight?”
His hand swipes the air
as if he can erase the comment.
“She’s not my girl.”
More direct and desperate now.
“I’m just fucking her.”
The words crash into the floor.
Like—sheeeeeeeeew… boom!
Elle’s jaw drops.
Andrew hangs his head.
I’m holding back a smile.
Only my eyes peek over at Andrew.
“And with that statement,
“he never fucks her again.”
I take another sip of my coffee.
He huffs a laughs.
Tries to hold it in. Tries to bite it down.
Then his head tips forward, eyes meeting mine, smirking. “You see this? You turnin' a grown man into a mess.”
Elle cuts in—
“When I asked if you were having sex with anyone else, you said no.”
He blinks hard, eyes back on her.
“Elle… you serious? Right now?”
He’s shaking his head.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me with this timing.
“We just talked about this.
“Like five minutes ago.
“You forget already?
“Were we in the same fuckin’ conversation?”
He glances my way, seeing if he lost me.
Nope. Still here. Don’t know the fuck why.
Then he’s back to Elle.
She has her hand outstretched, argument loaded. “The literal meaning of girlfriend is the girl you're screwin'." She leans, all hips and hate. “And I'm the only one, or was that bullshit too?”
His fist taps his lips, head shaking.
He’s trying to act cool
while falling the fuck apart inside.
“Please—let’s not do this.
“Not with her standin’ right there.
“Swear to God—don’t.”
“Newsflash, we’ve been exclusive,” she says,
then— “Girlfriend. Exclusive.”
“Non è il momento, cazzo…” he groans,
eyes finding mine, an apology in them.
Elle scoffs. “You always do that—slip into Italian as if you’re hiding something.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, staring him down. “Next time I define the relationship, I’ll say it in both fuckin’ languages so there’s no confusion.”
I lift a hand. “Hi, hello,” I say, because I’m the idiot still standing here, and I think they might’ve forgotten.
“So, solid argument, really—did your research, very convincing. But...” The word hangs long enough for me to reconsider getting involved.
I don't, reconsider that is. “Girlfriend doesn't equal exclusive.
Just wanted to, y'know, throw that out there. So fidanzata? Sure. But property? Eh, no contract.”
Andrew stops, stares at me, then smiles.
Yeah. That’s right. I know some Italian.
I also know eat. And eat me. And fuck off.
Y'know, covering all the essentials.
“Not that I give a fuck,” I add fast—
“I got no skin in this game..."
They’re both staring at me now.
I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I step back.
Once.
Twice.
“Aight.
“Just gonna moonwalk outta here while you two figure your shit out.”
Then his hand shoots out,
fingers hovering my arm,
his body moving before his brain could stop it.
He’s not touching me, but he’s so close
I can feel the heat off his skin.
And I freeze.
So does he.
Me, because I wasn’t expecting it.
Him, because he wasn’t expecting himself to do it.
His eyes lift fast.
In them, lust and longing are singing backup.
“Allison’s eating with us,” he says suddenly.
Then he turns to Elle, filling her in.
“She’s eating with us.”
I can’t feel my face. It’s in shock.
I try to blink. “I’m what?”
Elle’s brows jump. “She’s what?”
Andrew’s staring at me.
“You’re eating. With us. End of story.”
Elle laughs, hollow,
waiting for the other end of the joke,
but it never comes.
She looks at him,
then me,
then back at him, realizing he’s serious.
“Andrew, are you feeling okay?” She looks genuinely concerned.
“You hear yourself right now? You just invited her to Roger’s birthday thing.
You don’t invite girls anywhere.” She gestures between us like she’s doing the math but keeps getting the wrong answer.
“This isn’t you. What did this girl do to you? ”
Then Elle turns to me.
“What did you do to him?”
“Well,” I say, lifting my coffee,
“first I gave him a heart attack.”
Andrew nods. “Swear to God, lost it somewhere in my chest,” he says, serious. “Scared the shit outta me. Thought I was gettin’ robbed.”
“Then I asked him his name,” I add.
He turns to me, eyes warm.
“Yeah. That’s right. Which I lost that for a sec too, found it, then I asked you yours.”
“And I told you.”
“And I said it again,” he says.
“And again,” I reply.
He smiles. “And now I can’t fuckin’ stop.”
He leans into me, crashing his shoulder into mine,
as if he wants to say it again, in my ear this time.
But then Elle claps her hands, all fake cheerful.
“Amazing. So we’ll just all hang out together. Who knows? Maybe Allison and I will become best friends, ‘cause you know what they say—”
I wince. It’s coming.
“Here we go…” Andrew mumbles under his breath.
“—Everything happens for a reason.”
Instantly, Andrew and I both groan.
At the same time.
Elle jerks her head back. “What?”
“Translation,” I mutter. “I have no real explanation for why my life sucks.”
Andrew points at me. “Exactly. Just a pretty bow slapped on garbage situations they have no control over.”
“Like ‘It is what it is.’” I bring the coffee to my lips. “Can’t stand useless phrases.”
“Vague bullshit,” Andrew mutters in agreement.
Silence falls.
Our eyes meet.
Mine, suspicious.
His, entertained.
He already knows he's got me.
And he’s enjoying watching me try to break free from him.
Then he twists the knife.
“Come. Eat with me.”
Elle curses.
“Come—really? She’s a woman, not a puppy.”
“I’m aware, Elle,” he deadpans, still staring at me. “Because if she were a puppy, I’d be takin’ her home right now.”
Yeah.
Just says it.
With a climbing smirk
and no regrets in his eyes.
Elle lets out an exhausted laugh.
“Are you serious?”
His smirk climbs even higher.
“Deadass, I’d take her home.
“Keep her fed, warm, safe.
“Wear her out. Spoil her rotten.
“Play records all night ‘til she falls asleep on me… Wake up and do it all again…”
His eyes haven’t left mine.
“Yeah. I’d keep her…”
The way he says keep her
makes everything slam on the brakes.
My lungs.
My chest.
My fucking soul.
“You’d keep me?”
“I’d keep the fuck outta you,” he murmurs.
Our little circle falls silent.
But his eyes won’t leave me.
Elle stares at him as if he’s grown a second head. “Who even are you right now? Take her home? Let her sleep in your bed? You don’t even let girls through the front door. I had to pee in a Dunkin’ down the street once ‘cause you said—what was it?”
She lifts her hand, counts on her fingers.
“‘No one crosses that threshold unless they share my last name.’
“‘My moms are goin’ through menopause.’
“‘The ghosts don’t like strangers.’
“‘I just vacuumed. I ain’t riskin’ footprints.’
“‘It’s against my religion.’
“‘It’s a full moon tonight.’”
She throws him a look.
“And my personal favorite:
“‘I got gravy simmerin’ and it can’t be disturbed.’”
Then she points a finger at him.
“What happened to Andrew Harding?
“The man. The myth. The legend?”
Andrew throws his arm up at his side.
“Nah, listen—
“you mess with my Sunday gravy,
“might as well pack your shit and go.”
“Christ almighty…” Elle rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “She’s some random. You wanna go down on her and get it over with, or can we go?”
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 even want to 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,