Page 480 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

We both see it, we both feel it,

and neither of us is blinking.

His heartbeat fades to steady,

his breath pulls deep again,

his mouth slides back to my throat,

and we sleep with him tucked warm and soft inside me,

just like this.

Just like this.

63 / ANGEL

AEROSMITH

// DEC 29, 2:07 PM - SOUNDWAVE RECORDS - MIDTOWN, NYC //

The next two nights pass in scraps.

Ben hasn’t come back.

Andrew does⁠—

four in the morning,

half-dead from work,

finding me in the writing room,

crawling over me,

mouth dragging my throat,

across my stomach, between my thighs.

Slipping inside me, staying buried,

falling asleep.

And I let him.

Because I’m stupid.

But it’s stupid romantic. And ours.

It’s already Sunday again.

I have him all day.

And as soon as we walk into Studio B at Soundwave, the chill hits my bare arms like a splash of cold water.

Andrew stays half a step behind me, nerves and wide-eyed wonder roll off him in waves. That sweet where-the-fuck-do-I-put-my-hands panic.

He looks like a beautifully composed contradiction—part runway rebellion, part rock god, part collector of dead poets.