Page 215 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Don’t crawl at me in the dark.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?!”

Another groan claws up my throat.

// 7:04 AM //

The sunrise is spilling onto the terrace as I walk into the kitchen.

Ben’s at the counter, blond hair spiked from sweat, gym tank clinging as he reorganizes his new spice rack.

“Mornin’, Period Poltergeist,” he grunts, then turns to me and points into the living room with the paprika. “Mind explainin' the Jersey trash passed out on the couch?”

My gaze follows his hand to a shirtless Andrew lying face down, his dark, sleep-ruined bedhead buried under a pillow.

His back’s a whole summer skyline, broad, warm, breathing in and out and alive, melting my frozen heart into the marble, and my ass into the chair at the breakfast table.

I curl my knees up into my chest, hating that he’s sleeping out in the open, exposed. An easy target for anyone stupid enough to fuck with him, touch him, hurt him.

He wouldn’t see it coming.

And my heart turns violent at the thought of it, starts loading weapons, tugs on my veins, ordering me to stand guard as he sleeps, unwilling to take any chances now that Hunter’s out of prison, cocking her pistol and unsheathing her dagger like—why the fuck’s my Andrew on the couch?

“Baby, you crazy?” Ben says, eyes narrowing. “How far you goin’ with this shit?”

I turn my attention to the window,

ignoring him.

Stage one of Hell Week:

I’m one hundred percent mute.

All week.

Ben calls it childish.

He’s right.

Childish works when the goal is to drive people away, make them frustrated enough to leave, just to see if they do.

Andrew wakes, muscles stretching warm under morning shadows. He pushes up slow, groggy, lifting onto his elbows, hair wild, back tight, sleep still dripping off him.

He grabs his glasses from the arm of the couch, slides them on, and glances over into the kitchen.

The second he sees me,

his tired face snaps into a mosaic of

hungry, relieved, undone

all at once.

Last night bleeds out between us in felt-green and neon⁠—

the floating chalk,

the chatter and clatter of the pool hall,