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A storm cloud hung over me and Andrew through most of dinner that night. I think the band felt it because even though they laughed and talked amongst themselves, they didn’t bother trying to interact with either of us.
I picked at my fries, trying not to look at Andrew, sitting right next to me. I could feel the warmth of his irritation coming off of him like a cheap space heater. Finally, after twenty minutes of being ostracized from the band’s friendly conversation, I turned to him. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes flicked to mine then back down to his plate. “For what?”
“You were right; it isn’t any of my business who you spend your free time with.” I poked at a fry with my fork. “And I don’t know why it bugged me so much.”
A ghost of a smile lit up his face. A spark of mischief curled the edges of his mouth.
Not that I was looking at his mouth.
“You’re nosy—that’s why it bugged you,” he said. He nudged my foot with his own. “It’s okay to admit that you’re nosy. I already knew that about you.”
“Shut up,” I said though I laughed. “I’m not nosy.”
“You’re nosier than a bored housewife, Ace. And terrible at hiding it.”
“I will not have you lie on my name like this.” I pretended to look away and crossed my arms.
“It’s okay to admit it, Ace,” he said, leaning toward me in a way that made the room spin a bit. “Go on, say it. ‘Andrew, I like to be all up in your business.’”
“Nope.”
He rolled his eyes. “Say it. It’s the only way I’ll forgive you for your gross miscalculation of my character.”
I sighed. “Fine, fine. Andrew, I like to be all up in your business.”
He grinned. “See, now was that so hard?”
I pushed his arm and laughed. “Whatever. Are you gonna eat that pickle?”
“I always save my pickle for you.” I blushed, and his grin grew decidedly sly. He snagged a fry from my plate and replaced it with the pickle. I looked at him as he munched happily.
“So, am I forgiven?” I asked.
His eyes danced as they flashed to mine. “Always,” he said.
