Page 333 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

fiddling with their ties,

Andrew exists terrifyingly timeless,

hair slicked back

with a come-hither confidence.

We pass the servers circling the room

and head straight for the bar.

Andrew skips the menu and eyes the bartender, low-slung trousers hugging perfectly at his hip.

“Zero-proof Old Fashioned,” he orders.

“Zero?” the bartender confirms.

“Yeah,” Andrew flicks a finger toward the top shelf, “and a double Chopin—long-pour cran, pure juice, no syrup. Heavy ginger, and a triple-lime squeeze…” He leans in an inch. “86 the trash, aight?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so smooth.”

He ignores my comment, keeping a distrustful eye on the bartender. “He was holding that shaker like a shampoo bottle when we walked up. Guy’s nervous.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I don’t want a nervous hand touchin’ your glass,” he says sideways from the corner of his mouth, then drops his fist on the bar. “Kid’s gonna amateur-hour your drink if I don’t watch him.”

A small laugh slips out from under my tongue. Swear, nothing’s more dangerous than a man who acts like he owns the entire room just because you’re standing in it.

Callista’s twenty feet away, a rock-glam hand grenade in a dress that’s the color of a winter pine forest.

Soon as the drinks land, I reach back, my fingers finding the warm wool at his thigh. “Drew, I want you to meet someone.”

He steps into my wake with a low-rise stride, carrying our drinks as we cut through silk and suits.

Paying no mind to the rest of the room,

the heat of his stare trails down the line of my bare back.

Callista turns as we approach, jaw falling open on its hinge. “Damn, that cut? Killer. Very ‘Havana’ meets ‘Old Hollywood.’” She sips from her martini glass with a hum, twirling her finger. “Do a spin for me.”

I do, and she nods,

eyes lifting to Andrew.

“Yeah… That back goes any lower, you’ll need an insurance policy on this guy’s fists.” She admires my dress. “Gorgeous, I tell you.”

I lay a theatrical hand upon my chest.

“Why, thank you.

“And you? Not a day goes by.”

She waves her hand.

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“It’s honestly unfair to the rest of us peasants,” I mutter playful, turning to Andrew. “Andrew, this is Callista, our powerhouse rock star. Callista, this is Andrew—the actual reason your deal fell through.”