I freeze.
Completely.
Like prey.
He pulls back, totally normal, already turning toward the door with the glass in his hand.
And I’m left standing there gripping a knife and a lime like my life depends on it, heart racing, skin burning, brain screaming.
Oh God.
I am in so much trouble.
Because that wasn’t nothing.
And the worst part?
I wanted it to be more.
By nine-thirty, the house feels too small for all of us.
Music is blasting from the kitchen speaker. Someone’s laughing too loud on the porch. The grill’s still smoking eventhough no one’s cooking anymore. Empty bottles line the counter like little glass soldiers.
Everyone’s buzzed.
Loose.
Glowy.
Even me.
Which is dangerous, because I’m not much of a drinker and everything already feels too sharp tonight.
“Okay,” Tony announces, clapping his hands like we’re a field trip. “Band’s starting. Harbor bar. Let’s roll.”
A cheer goes up like we’re in college again.
We spill out into the street in a messy pack—arms linked, jackets half-on, someone already singing off-key. The air smells like salt and fried food and summer. The sun’s gone but the sky’s still deep purple-blue, that last light clinging to the edges of the buildings.
Halfway down the street, I feel it.
The bass.
Low and heavy.
Thump—thump—thump.
Like a second heartbeat under the pavement.
The drums carry down the harbor, bouncing between brick storefronts. The closer we get, the louder it gets, until it’s vibrating in my ribs.
This is going to be fun.
I can feel it.
For the first time all day, I actually feel… light.
We move like a little posse.
