Page 107 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Yeah.”

“In a 1982 Firebird?”

I tip my head sideways.

“Gotta be an ‘82 Firebird.”

He laughs. “Yeah. In an ‘82 Firebird.”

I snap. “And I want a sandwich with stacked cold cuts from a bodega wrapped tight in white paper, Sharpie bleeding through.”

His thumb brushes my thigh. “Bag of Doritos on the side, no reason. You don’t even eat ‘em, they just need to be there.”

“And buttermilk pancakes the size of a steering wheel, fluffy and thick with the crispy edges. Butter that’s halfway melted and warm syrup bleeding off the edge of the plate.”

“Fuuuckkk.” He squeezes my thigh. “You’re actually tryna ruin me right now.”

I roll my head until I’m facing him again. “Wanna DoorDash?”

He looks inside the penthouse.

Then the elevator.

Then back at me.

“Do we gotta get outta the hot tub?”

He’s so serious, it’s cute. “One of us would have to get it from the lobby.”

A long, tragic pause.

“Or….” he drags out with a smirk.

“We could ask Ben.”

A laugh bubbles up inside me.

His grin slides darker.

“Think he’d do it?”

“Guess I could threaten him to.”

His laugh breaks through the smoke.

“And if he don’t go?”

“Then we kill him.”

Third bottle⁠—

Blade hits foil.

Screw hits cork.

Noir hits tongue.

He strokes my scalp, gentle,