Page 128 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

hands fast,

Jersey smirk dragging behind.

Every pour’s so damn pornographic.

Every hip lean, a fuck scene.

He’s already ringed in maybe four girls, all with their tits spilling over the bar. Another handful hovers a few feet away, next in line for his attention—all laughing and hair-swinging each time they glance over at him.

He dips down over the bar to hear a blonde, skinny black tie grazing the counter’s edge, forearms cut and flexed, veins catching the pendant light.

He’s happy, not broken-hearted.

Confident, not cracked.

Fucking liar, pouring drinks,

playing hot bartender.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here, bruised face, bruised ego, bruised heart, all bitter, camped out across the street in all black—the stalker with a shiner.

Tell me how that’s fair.

“That’s him,” I mutter into the mic. “The six foot sweet-talking bastard with the jawline. You’re gonna have to find a way⁠—”

Jasmine slices through with an “excuse me” in that honey-thick accent, hand grazing a hip here, brushing a forearm there, gliding between a redhead and a sequined mini.

The girls back up on instinct,

and then she’s in.

“Okay... or that…” I trail off.

Jasmine slides onto a stool, back arched.

Andrew glances over mid-pour.

His hands keep working, but his eyes…

they land on her

and forget to leave.

Fuck. Not fun anymore.

My grip on the binoculars goes white-knuckle. “Phase four,” I spit into the mic. “He’s gonna ask what you want to drink. Make him choose for you. Make him think you’re a mystery.”

From across the street, I watch as Andrew leans in and taps the bar with two fingers. “Startin’ you off with somethin’, or you waitin’ on somebody?”

Jasmine crosses her legs, meeting him halfway. “I am here for someone… but he is late,” she says. “Maybe you surprise me, bartender? With a cock—mhm,” she chuckles at herself. “Cocktail.” She tilts her head, laying her accent on thick, as if she’s a foreigner who doesn’t know any better. “This is word, yes? Cocktail”

Celie’s cackling, kicking her legs,

her back bouncing off the backseat.

I groan. “Fuck, she’s good.”

“Cocktail it is.” Andrew drops his fist onto the bar with a panty-soaking smile. “Think I can manage that without gettin’ myself into trouble.”