Five
he suddenly asks, the loud music failing to dull his words, straightforward and aimed at intensifying the heavy atmosphere.
“What are you up to?… I’m not answering,” Mark evades, jaw clenched, glare sharp.
“No, Sam, come on… answer,” I intervene, jealousy in full bloom.
“Fine… mmm… I don’t know… eighty, I think.”
“What?” I shout, swallowing hard, eyes rolling.
“Britanis, she’s there, right?” I growl with irony.
Sam doesn’t react, swallows, and glares at Mark.
The next move is mine, and of course, I lose. Worse, the bottle points at Mark.