Biddies was crowded, muffled by the smell of beer and frying, laughter and voices overlapping the music that came out of the old speakers. You had dressed yourself on purpose - short skirt, tight top, red lipstick - determined to make Joey swallow every word of that fight in which he, with that typical brutality, had said that "you had nothing".

He was leaning against the counter with Gibsie and Podge, a bottle of beer in his hand, bored expression until his eyes fell on you. The way his jaw locked denounced at the time: Joey Lynch had just lost his temper.

You ignored it, went straight to an acquaintance from your school class, laughed too loudly at his jokes, let his hand touch your waist - you didn't back down.

It was enough.

Joey dropped the bottle on the counter with a dry thud, ignored Gibsie's call and crossed the crowd like a storm. Before he could react, he felt his fingers hold firmly on his wrist, pulling you away from the boy and, without caring about the curious glances, dragged you out of the Biddies, to the dark and silent side alley.

"Are you going crazy?" - he growled, his accent carried by anger. - "Let that idiot put his hand in you right in front of me?"

You crossed your arms, still with your heart racing.

"In front of you? I thought we had nothing, Lynch."

He ran his hand through his hair, furious and desperate at the same time, his blue eyes sparkling under the dim light of the pole.

"Don't say that," - his voice failed, and the way he took a step forward cornered you against the wall. - "Don't say that because I... I can't look at you and pretend I don't feel anything. I can't."

His breathing was heavy, his anger mixed with regret, as if the words said in the fight were burning inside him now.