Page 267 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Jules’s moans fade.

“You’re a squirter, sweetheart.” His words drag through her swollen cunt. “Bet your ex never fuckin’ knew.” He pulls back, mouth slick, and he bets all the lights are out in his eyes.

His chest heaves when he says, “That do it for you?”

Both girls nod, their bodies twitchin’.

“Holy shit, I squirted,” Jules exhales. The two of them laugh.

He wipes his forearm across his mouth. “I’m gonna go… towel off.”

But he doesn’t stand right away.

Instead, he waits. Doesn’t know why, when this whole time he couldn’t wait to slip out the door. Still, he waits. Only for a second, just in case either of them says somethin’. Like maybe a thank you, but even that thought feels real fuckin’ stupid.

It doesn’t matter ‘cause they don’t. They ain’t payin’ him no mind.

They’re floatin’ on cloud nine, gigglin’ and crackin’ jokes.

He shakes his head, stands, and finds the bathroom.

As soon as the door closes behind him, his hands start shakin’ over the blow dryer, hair products, lotions, a million things scattered across the counter as he reaches for the faucet.

He’s disgusted with himself, can’t take a solid breath, can’t quiet the ringin’ in his ears, can’t look at himself in the mirror. He splashes water over his face, his neck, down his arms. Then he’s searchin’ the drawers.

After a squirt of toothpaste across his finger, he brushes his gums, his tongue, then takes a swig of Listerine. Spits it out. Another. Swallows. Wantin' it to burn a layer off the linin’ of his throat.

He grabs a towel—any towel—and scrubs at his face, neck, arms, chest.

Then he’s sittin’ on the closed toilet lid, his head in his hands, elbows to his knees, fingers grippin’ his hair tight. His knees won’t stop bouncin’, his body won’t stop shakin’. He can hear ‘em laughin’ through the door, like he ain’t in here losin’ it.

You’re good, man. You’re fuckin’ good.

Nothin’s wrong, he tells himself.

You did good. Made ‘em feel good. Gave ‘em somethin’ they always wanted. They trusted you, and you left ‘em smilin’, happy. Nothin’s wrong.

When he finally stops shakin’, he leaves the bathroom, hearin’ their lowered voices spillin’ in before he turns the corner: “So, like, how do we make him leave without bein’ bitches about it? Think he’ll hang around, expectin’ more?”

He freezes mid-step.

He can’t see ‘em. There’s a wall between, blockin’ the view.

But he can tell they’re in the kitchen. And he can’t fuckin’ move.

“No, but I’ll take one for the team and offer to go down on him. I’ll even ask him straight up, all awkward like, ‘So. Want me to suck your dick or somethin’?’” She laughs. “Don’t worry, he’ll pass.”

“Ew. And if he don’t? Make sure to wrap that thing with Saran wrap so your tongue don’t fall off.”

“He won’t, he’ll say no,”Riley whispers. “But that way it doesn’t look like we totally just used him.”

“Uh, Ry? We definitely just used him,” Jules says.

“I know, I know—” The two burst into laughter. “Stop, you’re makin’ me laugh. I do feel kinda bad…” she says, right before she drops into another laughin’ fit anyway, Jules joinin’ right behind her. “But like… he was into it. That’s every guy’s dream, right? He literally heard two pussies then dropped to his knees.”

“You wouldn’t have seriously been down to do that with a rando at a bar, right?”

“Do I look stupid to you?”