Page 131 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

all from Jasmine’s bullshit.

He holds up a finger when a crew of drunk girls storms the bar, waving bills and screaming for shots.

He entertains them, lines up the glasses and pours skillfully down the row, his eyes slipping back to Jasmine.

Soon as the shots are pushed forward, he’s drifting back to her, palms hitting the bar, all heat and indecency in his voice. “What’s your name?”

“Jasmine,” she seduces breathy, and I want to throw my earpiece out the window.

My heart’s always been good at playing dead, but I hate the way she’s lying there⁠—

chalk outline, blood gone cold⁠—

like she heard him and decided,

Yeah… no point gettin’ back up.

“Crime of passion,” he repeats, amused.

“You’re trouble, huh?

“Got it written all over you.”

He’s wearing a striptease smile, the one that says keep going without ever saying it, letting her push it further, inch by inch, while he keeps his hands clean.

“Jasmine, crank up the heat,” I tell her.

She keeps her eyes on him as she brings the drink to her lips.

It stops an inch away, when her tongue stretches out, searching for the straw with her eyes still on him.

Tongue finds it.

Drags it closer into her mouth.

Then her lips slide down the length of the straw, taking the whole thing, until her chin scrapes the rim, daring him to keep watching.

He does.

I can’t blink.

“Nah... She deep-throating the straw?”

The shaker in his hands slows.

His brows shoot up. His smile follows.

It could be amusement.

Could be confusion.

Could be a hard-on under that bar.

“Guessin’ that drink’s goin’ down smooth, huh?” he says, voice rough.

Celie’s convulsing behind me, shaking my seat. “Oh my God, I can’t,” she gets out between gasps, wiping tears.

Then Jasmine’s in her own world, moaning into the drink. “You made drink so good.” She twirls her straw through ice. “Mmm… and you, Mister Bartender, what time you stop making the drinks… and start making trouble?”