Page 54 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

dreamy-eyed and drooling.

Andrew wipes his hands on a napkin,

and catches me staring.

Then he crooks a finger, and the second I’m in reach, his hand lands on my hip, and he draws me in close between his legs. “It’s you, y’know,” he murmurs, his mouth at my neck. “Everything tastes better with you in the room.”

“Yeah?” Every cell in my body’s rubbing together like dry wood, sparking hot the closer he gets, burning me up and turning me to ash.

“Yeah. You bein’ here makes everything better.” His eyes slide off me and drift around the room. “Only thing I’d change is every pair of eyes on you.”

“Jealous?”

“Nah. Just don’t want anyone lookin’ at you, imaginin’ shit. Makes me wanna throw a napkin over your face so I can have you to myself.”

“Okay—” I nudge my head to the table next to us. “Girl behind me? Been pretendin’ not to listen to every word you say. And the waitress?” I shrug, my fingers tracing the shape of the lump that’s in his pocket. “Girl nearly mounted you when she reached over to grab your empty glass.” Whatever it is, it’s small, solid, and bottle-shaped, and it steals my attention. “What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothin’,” he tugs me forward.

“Don’t change the subject.

“What're you gettin’ at, huh?”

I try avoiding his gaze, knowing I shouldn’t say what I’m about to say.

It’s ‘cause of the alcohol. ‘Cause I’m a guilt-ridden, manipulative coward, who says one thing, wanting the opposite.

‘Cause I went and got fucked.

Now I want him to get fucked too.

I want him to slam into pussy so we can be on the same page again.

Which is truly psychotic.

No one has to tell me, I already know.

And the truth is? If he did?

I don’t think I could move on from it.

That’s how I know once I tell him,

he’ll never see me again.

But that was the point, Allison. Wasn’t it?

“All I’m sayin’ is, you’re still single, Drew. You got options. You should go for it. Have fun. Hook up and shit.” I shrug. “With any of ‘em. All of ‘em.”

He stares, confusion bleeding through first, considering he might’ve misheard. But in the next second, he’s grabbing my face, sliding his fingers to the base of my spine, pulling me flush between his spread thighs.

And then I’m in his hands, his mouth dragging to my ear. “You make me insane,” he murmurs, both hurt and heated.

“Good,” I say.

“Nah, like, I hate how much I like you.” His thumb grazes my cheek. “You drive me fuckin’ nuts. Push every button. Keep sayin’ stupid shit and doin’ stupid shit every time shit gets intense. But I still want you under me every night. Don’t even care how long it lasts. Don’t care how it ends or if you’ll hate me. I want it.”

These words are spoken like empty bullets, as if there’s no harm to them, just brass casings dragging shivers down my spine, condoning my corruption.