Roger... the wingman?

Roger manages to steal a surprise spare in his drunken stupor. His arms go up with a loud whoop, a shrill to both your and Amy's ears.

"Fuckeah! Stilllll got it, bitches!"

With a spin, he dances his way back to your table. He eyes Amy on his return, and with each step, his mood somehow shifts from his **** irritability, to one of still ****, but much more... disturbing.

He squishes between the two of you, placing his arms around each of your shoulders. For a second, his eyes are on Amy. You shudder what he's thinking, that mischievous glint marked in his profile makes you expect the worst, but not long after he turns his attention to you.

"You two would make a cute couple." he winks.

You turn into a tomato. Of course, having the intelligence of one too, it was bound to happen tonight. Deciding to confide in the one person here with zero inhibitions was a pretty bad call. A lengthy discussion about your crush on Amy managed to turn into a one step plan on how to crash and burn - for dummies.

Amy is beet-red, too. You can hardly fathom why she'd be so embarrassed, unless she confided something equally devastating to this revelation. She's rightfully blindsided by Roger's tact, probably mulling over a hypothetical romantic relationship with a person she's considered a friend all these years, the horrors and pitfalls.

Now, you've certainly entertained a happily-ever-after with the lady, but the longer this awkward silence goes on, the more pronounced Amy's quizzical gaze commits to the idea of you and her as an item, how things could be between the two of you. Her vacant stare shoots up from the floor, turning to gauge your reaction, and soon she herself realizes how quiet it's been.

"Hahaha! Very funny, Roger," Amy's words cut like a knife, "John and I are just-"

"Oh, come on!" Roger angrily bellows, pulling the two of you in as he takes a taller posture, "Friends?! Were you gonna say friends?! You two are sooooo obvious, get a room!"

Amy sputters, trying to defend herself against a stumbling drunk... 's words; a losing battle. It's no picnic, but Roger's guile had sped up your plans by a few centuries - whether it hurt your chances with Amy is up for debate with historians. Amy, once again turns to you for your reaction, only to see your shameless mug, like a dog, snout deep in its own shit.

Amy pauses at your expression, "John? Do you..."

Wiping away the sickly nacho cheese from your disorderly face, you put to words the only thing that felt worth all the struggle that came before, "Wes."

"I mean, yes!" you put your hands down onto the vinyl cushion, in the space separating the two of you, "Amy, I've... liked you for a long time. This isn't the way I wanted to say any of this, but... do you want to go out, sometime?"

It feels the whole room has stopped at that sudden relay of information. The faces of Amy, and Roger frozen in a moment of surprise, and expectant reciprocity, respectively. Amy reaches her hand out, pulling my limp fingers up into the air as our hands intertwine.

"I think I would like that..."

Roger swoops into the conversation, pulling us up by our hair, furthering the distance of this moment to something romantic.

"There's an arcade over there, you two kids have fun on your first date!"