Page 137 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Let me wake you up,” she says against his skin. “I’ll give you that burst of energy you’re lookin’ for.”

Shit. She ain’t gonna back off.

She don’t see the guy runnin’ on fumes.

She don’t wanna know that guy or care about him. That man’s invisible.

All she sees is the guitar slung low. The stage. The guy singin’, ‘he’s so fuckin’ drunk on you.’ And right now? She’s the you. Same as every girl in the crowd. Only she’s reachin’ for her turn. She wants her slice of the magic. And now she’s sittin’ on him, starin’ up at him, hungry for it.

“Couldn’t stop starin’ at you on stage,” she says. “Swear I tried.”

“Guess we⁠—”

Tongue and teeth attack him at once, and he pulls back fast.

“Easy,” he warns, needin’ control before it spins out. “What’s goin’ through that head, huh? You come back here wantin’ somethin’ from me? Or just wanted to hang out?”

Her hips move first, grinding into his lap, makin’ it clear—nah, she ain’t here for him or his company. She’s here to come. “I dunno…” She bites her lip. “Yeah. But I just… want you wantin’ me, too.”

An exhale slips long from his chest.

“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

It’s bullshit, but it’ll help ‘em both sleep at night.

He calls it mercy, not dishonesty.

‘Cause lies don’t count if they don’t hurt the one on the other end.

All he wants is to give her the piece she’s after to get it over with.

He won’t send her off empty or thinkin’ she ain’t wanted, even if he ain’t feelin’ it at all. ‘Cause he never feels anything in the moment anyway.

Then, soon as her clothes come off, that’s the curtain risin’, the top of the cue. When Andrew stops bein’ Andrew and becomes whoever she came here lookin’ for.

It’s her night, her story, and he’s just the guy who helps make it happen.

He blacks out for most of it, and once it’s over, he quickly wipes his fingers off on her shirt without her noticin’ before handin’ it back to her. Like he’s clocking out of one job and headin’ back to another.

“That do it for you, sweetheart?”

He pretends not to notice that she’s cryin’.

He knows she ain’t sad or mad.

Those tears come from feelin’ too much, too fast. It still hits him, proud to’ve given her somethin’ real enough to ache, and foolish for givin’ her more of himself than he’ll ever get back. So it guts him too, ‘cause he don’t ever get it for himself.

Makes him wonder what the fuck it’d be like to feel like that with someone.

// TRACK CHANGE //

Seconds later he’s in the bathroom, starin’ at his hands like they don’t belong to him. The water’s runnin’ and the soap’s foamin’ as he scrubs her off his skin, refusin’ to look himself in the mirror.

She ain’t here no more, but her shadow won’t fuckin’ leave.

When he swings the bathroom door open to leave, two girls shove him right back in, door slammin’ behind ‘em, lights flickerin’ above. One of ‘em locks the door, neither’ll take no for an answer.

They’re opportunists in tiny dresses—hems ridin’ high, asses spillin’ out each time they bend over an inch.