Page 179 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

The cue draws back.

Then releases.

// CLAUSE FOUR //

He misses the fourth shot.

It was an easy one, too.

His cue smacks the rail as he stands taller, his shadow stretching across the green felt as he shoots the ball a cold stare.

As if intimidation will push it into the pocket.

It doesn’t.

The solid spins away,

embarrassed to be on his team.

In that second, the jukebox kicks over, and “Black Velvet” cuts through the hall, a swampy lick of a Strat strutting out of the speakers.

I slide past him,

line up a stripe,

and sink it into a pocket.

“No L-bombs,” I say

before I’m fully upright,

then glower at him.

“No sneaky variations, either.”

He spins the cue between his fingers, then stops it in his fist on beat. “Gonna need you to spell that one out for me.”

I sigh. “Only four letters, Drew.”

He grins as he walks toward me until I’m backed up against the pool table. His gaze wanders down the line of my throat.

Then he grips the edge of the table

and pulls himself even closer.

So close, I smell his cologne soaked into his skin. I feel his body heat like a hand up my skirt.

His stare presses into me. “When you say no L-bombs, does that mean sayin’ shit like—I love your stubborn smile every time you’re tryna fight it. Or… I love how you look at me when you come, knowin’ I’ll catch you.”

His mouth dips to my ear,

breath hot against my jaw.

“Or… that…

“I fuckin’ love eatin’ your pussy.”

My ear catches the heat off those words.