Page 193 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“You let me worry about that.”

He inches back, chin angled high,

eyes fixed heavy through his lashes.

“Aight, your turn.

“What clause you goin’ for?”

I grab my cue off the wall. “You’re taking a second day off every week. For your moms. One whole day with ‘em, every damn week. No bail-outs, no excuses, no ‘I’ll make it up to ‘em later.’”

“Allison. That’s my bills you’re cuttin’ into. That’s—” A laugh arrives, but dies quick behind his hand. “Shit, that’s money I don’t get back.”

“You’re wrong. Money you get back. Time, you don’t,” I say, my voice betraying me.

He leans an elbow on the table next to his laptop, studying me. “You’re killin’ me here,” he mutters. “That’s what you want, huh?”

If he only knew. I’d give anything for ten more seconds with Mom and Dad. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

His head dips in a slow nod as he reaches for the chalk. “As much as I’m gonna stress over the bills...” He chalks the tip, gaze steady on me. “Yeah, it feels good, hearin’ your winnin’ shot’s for my moms.”

It’s for you, I want to say.

But he’s already lining up the shot,

the cue gliding through his fingers.

Once, twice⁠—

Then he pauses, eyes flicking up fast.

“Yo, tell you what—” He rises again, spine straight, cue stick clutched in his fist. “Why not make this more interesting?”

Translation:

he’s about to bend me over the felt,

metaphorically or literally.

“What did you have in mind?”

He shrugs. “We throw in a sweetener for the winner. Somethin’ fun and off the contract.”

He says ‘sweetener’

and I’m twitching like a junkie.

I know I shouldn’t.

I know it’s not smart.

But he’s holding danger in his fist, and I want to lick it right off his knuckles.

He gives me that lazy, lethal smile.

Then reaches for his Coke, indifferent.

As if he doesn’t care either way.