PIPER
The chandelier hanging over my head feels like a threat. Any moment, Timofey is going to pull a cord and it's going to come crashing down on me, I just know it.
Honestly, right now, that doesn't sound so bad. Death would be preferable to watching our bottle blonde waitress shoot "fuck me" eyes at Timofey all night.
This restaurant is supposed to be fancy, for God's sake. Can't she keep it in her pants?
"And for you?" the waitress asks. She's talking to me, but her eyes are too busy pursuing Timofey to look in my direction.
I don't know why I'm here. Not just here, as in, in this moment, jealous over a waitress I don't know making eyes at a man I wish I didn't know.
But here as in here. At this restaurant. With Timofey.
I asked a million times on the car ride over, but he refused to say anything. I'm sure he has a reason, of course. He has a reason for everything. And I'm sure that reason is infuriating. It always is with him.
