Page 126 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

pick some girl,

usually one of Celie’s model friends,

and send them in as bait to test the man’s loyalty.

Now we’re older, wiser,

and much more adult about it.

And no, we don’t need therapy.

Therapy’s for people who want to fix things.

We’re just three women in a parked car at midnight, dressed for a heist, about to blow up my Andrew-and-Allison-thing for research purposes.

“Yo, you know why I picked Jasmine, right?” Celie says it while running her fingers through Jasmine’s hair, fluffing it up as if she were a prop, not a friend.

Jasmine doesn’t move. She’s a statue.

Models are good at pretending they’re not human.

I roll my eyes. “Because she’s exactly Andrew’s type? Brunette and ridiculously hot. That Bruno-Mars-would’ve-written-a-whole-damn-album-about-her kind of hot.”

Celie grins devious. “Exactly.”

I sink back in the seat and fix my earpiece. The setup’s in place. My nerves are sparking—part adrenaline, part absurdity.

“Testing, one-two-three,” I say into the mic. “Jasmine, can you hear me?”

“Is good, I hear you, boss,” she fires back.

Then we’re three lunatics in the car, shrieking and kicking our feet, as if we just robbed a bank and got away with it.

“Alrighty. Moving on to phase two.” I turn to the backseat. “Hoodrat, get Jasmine in position. Spray the perfume, stat. She’s gotta smell like Paris, not like she got turned around on the way to the bathroom.”

Celie reaches for the Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, bought for tonight. 'Cause Google claims it’s statistically the one scent men can’t keep it in their pants for.

“Mmm, girl,” Celie hums, “Six-Point-Five’s gon’ be on his knees, watch.”

My smile slips off.

Fuck, I’m sick.

My stomach’s a fist.

Andrew kneeling for another girl...

touching...

tasting...

No. No, that doesn’t exist.

I suck in a breath. “Now she’s gotta walk in like she don’t give a fuck. Uninterested with that I-eat-fuckboys'-hearts-for-breakfast stride,” I say, clapping my hands, trying to ignore my gut that’s twisting. “Phase three, people.”

Celie laughs. “Instructions to walk? She’s a model. She’s been paid to walk since she was thirteen.”

“I’m right here, yes?” Jasmine says, annoyed.