Chapter 28 Hole In My Soul #3
someone go ahead and open the floorboards.
I’ll climb down myself.
Andrew mutters low in her ear.
Talia buries her smile in his shoulder.
“Don’t act like last time wasn’t fire, baby…
“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 to I 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.
“Now’s not the time.”
Her eyes slide to me and latch on.
“Then when? ‘Cause last time you ghosted me after.” She scoffs. “Maybe if you’d come up for air every once in a while, we could talk.”
Her smile isn’t on her lips but in her eyes.
It hits, a bat to the gut.
It’s in my head now too.
I can’t breathe. Because I’ve felt those hands.
And now they’re on her in every version I can’t unsee.
Andrew turns fully toward her.
He lifts a brow.
“You’ve overstayed. Time to go.”
“Andrew—”
“Nah—you gotta go. We’re done here.”
Mikey coughs into his fist, eyes flicking to me.
“You want out? I’ll get you out.
“Fuck the set. Just nod,
“don’t even gotta look back, alright?”
Andrew’s gaze hits me first.
Then he flicks a hand at Mikey.
“Yo, Mikey. Not fuckin’ helpin’.”
My hand slips under my thigh,
and I pinch the sensitive skin above the back of my knee hard.
'Cause if I feel this, I won’t feel Andrew thrusting into Talia against a wall.
Reminds me I’m still here.
Still in control.
Still mine.
One breath. Two.
And I watch Mason. Keep my eyes on Mason as he grinds into the girl he's with—before his attention steers over his shoulder to the bar again.
Same spot. Same girl. Fourth time.
Four. Seems excessive.
I pull out my phone and ask the Google gods:
How many times does a guy look at you before he likes you?
Three glances means curiosity.
Five means attraction.
More than five in a minute means obsession.
Mason turns,
chin scraping his fucking shoulder again.
Glance five hits. “Oh, we’re locked in now.”
He turns his girl,
hand on her hip, easy… easy…
guiding her until he’s facing the bar.
I shake my head. “Smooth,” I mutter. “Nothing says ‘move, lemme eye-fuck someone else’ like a slow-girl-rotate outta frame.”
“Nah,” Andrew says. “Bro’s just down bad for the girl across the room.”
I glance over. Talia’s gone.
He leans in.
“But the one hangin’ on him?”
He exhales. “She’s the past.
“Tryna claw its way back.”
A smile breaks across my mouth.
It’s confused. It’s trying.
Maybe even pretending.
“Bro’s name is Mason.”
Andrew leans into his knee.
“Mason?
“Of all names, you went with Mason?”
“Statistically? He screams 2001. And that’s one of the top ten baby names for that year. Don’t ask me why I know that, I just do.” I gesture to the guy. “And he’s two tracks from fingering the past in a mini skirt.”
My eyes find Andrew
the same time he looks over at me.
“Dumbass is five seconds from regret,” he says, his hand cutting air. “Couldn’t be me. I’m not that fuckin’ stupid.”
Huh. Fingering.
Glad we found your boundary tonight.
I lift my chin.
“So what’re we thinking—
“hand up the front or the back of the skirt?”
“Front,” he says, watching my face.
“He needs her focused on him.
“Doesn’t want her noticing the real view’s behind her.”
“Nah, I’m goin’ with the back.”
I lift a hand toward Mason.
“He’s a grinder. Got his thin-ass pants on, ready to rub up on some heat. Chin on her shoulder, finger ready to slide in and pretend she’s all Bar Girl, blonde hair, and boobies.”
Nico snorts loud across from me.
“Hold up—” Mikey lifts off an elbow.
“Miss Past gettin’ real sus right now.”
Andrew and I turn our attention back to Mason. Miss Past might be catching on to what Mason’s looking at.
Nico gestures to our TV.
“Yo, Allison—
“What do you think she’s sayin’?”
I tilt my head,
then raise my voice an octave—
“Mason, it’s been seventy-eight days since you touched me… just asking for one night without you looking away…”
Dead silence.
Then the booth falls apart.
Mikey collapses into Jay.
Nico slaps the ledge behind him with a cackle.
Andrew’s laugh knocks him forward, but it’s a broken sound, holding back more than breath. “Yo... I was not ready,” he chokes out, hand over his jaw, eyes locked on mine. “You really just said that.”
Then Nico perks,
and it gets everyone’s attention.
“Oh-oh—Mason’s makin’ a move, people.”
Andrew’s eyes find mine again,
trying to gauge how I’m feeling.
Then we turn with the rest,
and Andrew's locked in—
“Alright. Hand’s on the thigh.
“Startin’ at the forty yard line.”
I shoot a hand out in front of me.
“Field’s wide open. But if she cuts left,
“he’s fumbling the whole play.”
“Nah—bro’s confident,” he says.
“Look at the fantastic hand placement.”
I lean back an inch, cross my legs—
“It may be too soon to tell, Harding.
“Let’s see if he follows through.”
Mikey chuckles into his drink.
“She’s literally the female Harding—
“God help us all.”
Andrew gives Mikey a side-eye,
smirk tugging.
I sit up straighter. “He’s hangin’ on the sideline, lookin’ for an opening… Elbow’s down, wrist locked in. That’s a man who’s been here before.”
“Side of the thigh?” Andrew waves a hand.
“Outta bounds, bro. You flirtin’. Not playin’.”
Nico’s giggling.
Arms crossed.
Shoulders bouncing.
“Here we go.” Andrew claps,
then rubs his palms together.
“One more inch and we’re inside the ten...
“But if he don’t cut in soon, game over.”
Mikey slaps a fist against the cushion.
“Hurry, Nico—call it, man. Front or back?”
“Back,” Nico says.
“Front,” Mikey counters, watching too closely.
Beat of silence.
Then from behind Jay, Mae lifts a finger—
“Back. Obviously. Mason’s a slut.”
The guys exchange glances.
Then Nico wheezes, slapping the table.
Mikey snorts into his drink.
Andrew dies into his palm. “Deadass—I’m cryin’,” he chokes out. “Not her pausing her podcast just to slut-shame Mason.”
Mikey shoots up, arms raised,
cuts the booth quiet.
“Aight, aight—shut the fuck up—
“here it comes.”
A beat.
Then—
Hand slides up the back.
Buzzer.
Booth fucking erupts.
Drinks spill.
Nico and I high-five.
Mikey groans.
Andrew drops back into the booth,
hand over his face.
Two booths down, people are staring,
“I’m so fuckin’ embarrassed,” Jay mutters.
I’m laughing with the rest of them,
but my heart’s not clapping.
She’s just trying to keep it together.
// 11:06 PM //
Nine minutes.
The booth’s bleeding nerves.
Andrew’s tuning Jay’s guitar.
Jay’s getting the back of his neck licked by Mae for luck.
Mikey’s double-fisting shots,
throwing back his third just-one-more.
“Yo, should I spit out my gum?” Nico mutters,
but no one answers.
“I just put it in, but I regret it…
“Gum’s got, like, only two chews on it…”
Jay folds over, smacks Nico’s foot.
“Off my fuckin’ cords.”
“Lost my damn pick again.” Mikey groans,
slaps his jean pockets, frantic.
Andrew stands and snatches the fourth shot out of Mikey’s hand, swapping it for a pick. “You’re cut off,” he says, claps his shoulder, then downs the shot himself.
“Should’ve planned better.
“Should’ve scheduled the chew,” Nico sighs.
Energy’s crawling now—fast, hot, stupid.
Then it fades as they start disappearing,
one by one.
First Jay.
Then Nico.
Then Mikey.
Then Andrew walks up to me,
his grip tight around his guitar case,
knuckles pale.
My breath’s held in my lungs.
His heat pumps into my skin as he stands over me, breath jagged enough for the both of us.
His eyes are half-lidded as they drag across my face—searching, burning—like he's two seconds from kissing me, or setting the whole night on fire.
He opens his mouth,
but only a breath rushes out of him.
His eyes break away.
He swallows back the words.
As if he says anything, he’ll lose it,
so he says nothing.
He steps back,
turns around,
and follows the others toward the stage.
I move to the support beam on the floor, and stand with claw marks down my chest from the night.
All the girls.
All the stares.
All the throwback pussy stories…
An emotional gangbang goes down inside my ribcage, leaving my heart on her back, mascara smeared, thighs sore, looking at me as if I let this happen.
I should’ve left after ‘Moaning into my clit with a death grip on my D-cup.’
But I didn’t. And I don’t know why anymore.
Now that line’s tattooed on the walls of my chest now. Next to ‘Some.’