Mikey sucks at pool.

Justin's not much better, but he'd make a hell of a poker player. Better than me.

Christ.

Thirty seconds, that's all I need. Justin looks up from the party, like he hears me thinking about him. About-

Thirty seconds. His eyes meet mine, we drift to the bar like it's nothing. If anyone notices how white my knuckles are against the fabric of his sweater, they don't say. With his forehead against mine, the breath I've been holding since the Center sighs against his skin.

"I'm here."

"Yeah."

He's here. I'm okay. Back to the game.