Page 197 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Not one bit.”

I bend over,

the cue stick tight between my fingers,

my blood rushing in my ears.

“Not so tight, baby,” he teases. “You want it to slide easy between your fingers.”

I shift,

trying to push him out of my mind,

and step into my shot, angling myself.

But my hands feel unsteady now,

like they already know the end.

“Corner pocket,” I say,

pulling the cue stick back,

feeling the bindings around my wrists,

the blindfold shutting me in the dark⁠—

Then I strike.

46 / FALLINGFORYOU

THE 1975

The cue ball rockets forward, cracking against the eight,

sending it spinning⁠—

rolling—

rolling—

‘til it drops into the corner with a hollow thud, the pocket’s black mouth swallowing it whole.

It sinks.

A relieved sigh stumbles out of me.

My gaze slowly lifts to Andrew,

but his eyes are still glued to the table.

I track the line of his stare.

The cue ball’s still creeping forward.

Still crawling.

Still drifting.