Page 139 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

What he wants is silence. A sandwich.

A night where his body doesn’t hurt from carryin’ everyone else.

When the last chorus hits, the sound system lags half a beat late, like it’s drunk on the 2 a.m. PATH back from Newark. He’s offstage before the clappin’ starts. With his guitar crammed in the case, he’s down the stairs before the next favor finds him.

He knows how this goes: linger too long and someone corners you.

So he cuts right, not left, dodgin’ the hall, palms slammin’ the emergency EXIT bar and shovin’ the door open. Cold air socks him in the lungs. It burns goin’ down—first real thing he’s felt all night.

When he reaches the garage, it reeks of weed and a dead body.

Same as every shitty garage after midnight.

He finds his car, pops the trunk, and drops the case inside.

“Hey, Andrew, right?”

Fuckin’ hell…

// TRACK SKIPS - NEEDLE CAUGHT IN A GROOVE //

A female voice pierces through the quiet garage.

Andrew turns, one hand holdin’ the trunk lid.

Miss Mini Skirt’s standin’ three feet out—blonde pink curls sprayed stiff, rings in her nose and brow, leather jacket hangin' off her shoulder, blue eyes lined Sharpie-black, and a starved stare barin’ fangs for him.

Yeah… shoulda taken the fuckin’ bus.

“Talia,” she tells him, sure he’ll remember.

His gaze narrows on her. “You followin’ me?”

He ain’t flattered. He’s fucked.

She laughs through her nose. “Quit playin’.” She steps in, lashes doin’ work. “Thought you were gonna wait for me.” She waves a hand mid-lie, buildin’ the story as she talks. “But then I saw you leave and figured we just missed each other.”

Eye contact was a mistake.

That shit’s deadly. Gives girls bad ideas.

He shuts the trunk, the sound echoing in the parking garage. “Nah. I dip out quick. Don’t wait on people.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “That’s how I knew you’d end up here.”

The fuck. That’s stalker talk.

Now he’s stuck in neutral, ain’t makin’ a move ‘til he knows where she’s goin’ with this. This is the exact setup that could bury a guy without ever layin’ a hand on anyone.

“Alright…” He drags it out. “Guess I’m caught.”

She laughs, tuckin’ a curl behind her ear. “Knew it,” she says. “You were thinkin’ about me.”

Lady, all I been thinkin’ about all night’s ricotta cheese. That’s it. Whole night, just ricotta.

He hangs a thumb behind him. “Nah, an’ sorry to cut this short, but yo—I got lasagna at home waitin’ for me.”

She steps closer, empty laughter rollin’ off her tongue. “Please. Everyone knows who you are, what you do. That look you threw me? On stage, right at the end? You were beggin’ for me.”