Page 361 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

How he’d smell.

(Like a Chicago jazz club after dark.)

If he’s the same tired-eye seduction he is on stage, the same jukebox romantic from his songs, or if that’s all act and album storytelling.

And as he slides up at the counter,

hips turning toward me,

looking down at me

with masochistic bedroom eyes that say,

darlin’,

you and I got one hell of a night in us,

turns out… he’s everything.

He sighs,

tapping his rings against his glass.

“Leavin’ me defenseless back there?” he drawls. “That’s cold-hearted behavior. Thought we were a team.”

I give him a closed-mouth laugh

‘cause it’s safer than moaning.

“Maybe one day,” I say, hating myself, knowing I’m standing at the edge of a mistake, already feeling the possible regret setting in.

Teddy scans for the bartender, leaning one elbow against the counter, and tips his chin when Andrew looks over. “Whenever you have a second,” Teddy tells him.

I’m scared to look back at Drew,

but when I do, his brow’s lifted, like⁠—

Trust me, bro. You don’t want that drink.

I press my lips together

to force back my smile.

It’s useless,

so I have to turn in my stool to hide it.

When I do, my knees accidentally brush the top of Teddy’s thigh, and I can feel the heat of him through the thin slacks.

(It was an accident. I’m not lying.)

In my peripheral, Andrew steps up,

and I throw my hand out before he gets a word in. “First, I need a moment to take this in,” I say, my gaze swinging between my two men.

Andrew, the pissed-off gorgeous man

my soul wants to press up against.