Page 216 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

the contract,

Hunter’s shadow

following us out the door.

Then the Lexus.

The slam of the car door.

His hands.

My moan.

Fogged windows.

Heated eyes.

Broken breaths.

City lights spotlighting

the sweat along his neck.

My climax flooding the night.

Then him,

this very moment,

in the morning after,

our entire night caving around our stare.

If Andrew survives the next five days of Hell Week, our contract officially begins.

Until then, his ass is on the couch.

Ben’s voice snaps me out of it⁠—

“The fuck he doin’ here? He lost?”

Andrew yawns on the way to the coffee machine, checks the pot with the back of his knuckles. “Nah, I stay here.”

He yanks open the cabinet and finds the mugs, acting as if he’s lived here forever.

Ben stares at him for a silent stretch of seconds. “Stay here?” A laugh leaps out of him. “Stay here?”

Andrew doesn’t turn, keeping his back to Ben, and he shifts onto one hip, stoic, as if Ben is dust he can’t wait to sweep up Friday. “Don’t know what to tell you, man,” Andrew sighs, pouring into his mug.

Ben snatches the salt off the counter angry, blue eyes drilling into me, then back at Andrew. “Yeah? So now you stayin’ here, huh? You a Boy or what?”

“Nah, I ain’t a Boy,” Andrew’s quick to correct, then throws his hand out at the spice rack. “An’ you don’t throw oregano in the back.”

Ben gives him a nasty once-over.

“Shit looks good by color.”

“Shit’s stupid,” Andrew mutters. “You build sections. You got the Italian herbs: oregano, basil, parsley, and rosemary together.” He lists out, “Savory spice base: paprika, cayenne, chili flakes by the oils. Then the baking corner—that’s how you fuckin’ do it.”