Page 176 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

But so am I.

So I surrender,

closing the distance,

pulling myself into him again,

my arms slipping around his waist under the plaid, heat pumping through the white tee. “Okay,” I say.

And with that one word,

his whole body melts.

All tension rolls off him.

His arm comes around me, holding me close. “Jesus. Don’t ever pause that long again,” he exhales, chest caving. “Nah, for real. You know I’m a dramatic lil bitch, you had me seein’ the end.” Then his forehead rests against my hairline, breathing me in.

But all I can see is me a year from now,

floating in the pool,

mascara streaked and staining my face,

looking up at the night sky

on a cold night like this,

thinkin’ how drowning would hurt less.

And while I’m in the deep end,

there’s Ben in my head, told you, Baby.

I try to shake it from my mind. “So tell me. We playin’ 8-ball for contract terms now?” I ask. “How’s this gonna go?”

44 / BLACK VELVET

ALANNAH MILES

“Real simple. We’re playin’ classic Eight-Ball. One game, no rematch.” Andrew flips the triangle as he walks around the table, eyes on me. “Pocket one of your balls? You get a rule. Pocket mine by accident, I get two.”

I sit on the table’s edge, palm flat beside me, the spot still warm from his hand, trying not to admire the shape of his cock pulling at his jeans.

He leans across the table for a stripe,

hip pressing into the edge.

Then he glances up,

and my gaze rushes up to meet his.

“Try some wild shit? We each get one veto.” He points at me with the ball in his fist, blue veins in his hand popping. “Make sure you use it wisely, angel. I ain’t goin’ easy on you.”

His smirk’s not helping my pulse.

Neither’s the forearm flex when he racks the last ball.

“Eight-ball wins you one last clause. No vetoes allowed for the winning shot,” he says, standing tall, lifting the triangle off the table. “And one last thing…” He rolls his sleeves up another inch. “I know you can’t keep your hands off me, but nah. This is a clean game. No touchin’.”