Sky lets out a squeal so loud it makes me question whether they're actually okay. "You guys fucked on the table!" they announce at full volume, earning a series of sharp looks from nearby parents. The irony is almost funny, these parents glare as though their precious children have never heard a swear word, when I'd bet money they've heard worse at home.
"Yes, but could you please not yell that in the middle of Chuck E. Cheese where we literally work?" I hiss back, shooting them a look. They'd asked why I was late, and somehow that spiraled into me giving Sky a play-by-play of last night and this morning. I may have left out one small detail though, the part where I went to my father's funeral.
Naturally, Sky ignores my plea for discretion. "Why didn't you call me after?" they pout dramatically, sticking out their lower lip. "You do have my number. I know you do. We laughed about it, remember? Because it has a sixty-nine in it?"
