Angelo's Monologue

As I descend the stairs from the stage, trepidation saturates my body. During my performance, I retained my focus on Angelo's table to observe Patsy dancing in her seat, while Angelo sat back with his arm stretched along the back of the sofa, wearing a smile on his lips as he watched me. But John, his angry glare remained on his bottle of beer most of the time. When he did glance my way, the fury that spewed forth from his penetrating glare was terrifying. If I could convince Patsy to abandon John for the rest of the evening, maybe we could have a pleasant time with Angelo, instead of enduring the melancholy ambience produced by John. The vast crowd before me blocks my path back to the table, to which I feel truly grateful for. Ordinarily,
“I know, he's acting like a jerk and I've even told him to stop, but you need to understand, he feels threatened by Angelo. This is John's default when he's hurt, especially when he see's you and Angelo together.”
My hands gravitate to my hips. “But we're friends, and he's dating someone.”
“Well, neither of us knew that previously.” One of her eyebrows raises before she continues, “and you two sure appear intimate.”
A nervous giggle emerges this time. Did either of them witness Angelo and my interaction by the bar? “I don't know what more to say, Patsy. Yes, I know John wants more than friendship, but I'm not ready for that. As for Angelo, we're friends, and I'm sorry if John feels threatened or hurt by our interactions, but this is how we are, how we've always been.” Who am I trying to convince that there's nothing but friendship between Angelo and me? Patsy or myself?
Her face softens as a gentle curve dances along her lips. “Believe me, I understand. Do you have any idea how many people have questioned mine and John's relationship? But if Angelo's taken and you're single, then why not go on a date with John?”
“How long have I known you and John for? A week?”
For a moment, I pause to observe him and behold his beauty. Though he's watching Jane perform, I notice he distributes his attention elsewhere, something he never does when I perform. After gazing around the room, he extracts his phone from his inside pocket to give it some attention, before returning it to its residence and retrieves the tumbler from the table, whereupon he swirls the amber liquid before swallowing the drink. I anticipate him returning the glass to the table, only to discover he rises from the sofa instead. Only then do our eyes lock as he notices me standing a few feet from him. A curve materialises on his lips, along with the creases in the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” he calls over, “I was going for another drink. Want