Page 100 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

his eyes scanning my face.

“Ain’t only ‘cause you’re the best thing I ever tasted. Or ‘cause’a the shit I’m feelin’ when I’m with you. But ‘cause of the way you get lost in me, too.

“When it’s you and me,

“no one’s takin’ or givin’ nothin’…

“We’re just ours. And it feels… good.

“Real good.”

I bite the inside of my cheek,

warmth crawling up my throat.

Great. Now I’m blushing like a fucking freshman.

But then my thoughts start to spiral.

He says he’s not addicted, but I wonder if his body still is: girl walking by, skirt riding high, and his jaw still aches, mouth watering for a taste.

“You still doing it?

“Still got a problem with saying no?”

He huffs a bitter laugh,

cigarette paused halfway to his mouth.

I pluck it from his fingers, taking it for myself. “Say some girl comes up to you, sad eyes and all, says she needs you, asks real nice, you’d say?”

He reaches for the pack again and pulls out another, eyes not leaving mine. “I got no problem tellin’ girls to fuck off.” He lights the cig. “If you’re askin’ what I think you’re askin’—I ain’t touchin’ nobody else,

“ain’t goin’ down on nobody else.

“Only thing I want?”

He looks right at me.

“You.”

Andrew takes a drag from cigarette number four⁠—

“Alright, here’s a little unrequested honesty for you, on the house.” He ashes, holding my gaze, making sure I’m still with him. “If a song hits me hard? That kinda song? I tell nobody about it.”

He shrugs. “Won’t even say the title out loud. Fuck that. It’s mine. I’ll only play it alone, let myself believe no one else ever heard it. That maybe it was only made for me. ‘Cause the second someone else loves it? Connects with it? Relates to it? It ain’t mine no more.”

I fight to keep my eyes from wandering to his tattoo.

He brings the cig to his lips again.

“I know. Selfish as hell. I’m the worst kind of fan and a terrible consumer. ‘Cause if I love it? I ain’t talkin’ about it.” His eyes catch mine, that crooked grin coming back to life. “Spotify finds out? Yeah. They’re cancelin’ my ass.”

I glance at him with a side-eye. “What about the one across your ribs?” My eyes lower to his tattoo. “Don’t mind showing that one off.”

His hand drifts to his ribs as if I aimed a dart at it. “Some songs you hope are yours. Then there’s ones you just know are yours.” He puts the cigarette out in the snow and strokes the tattoo with his thumb. “This song? Mine. We’ve been through it together. She carried me through heavy shit, now I carry her. Bonded for life.”

I don’t usually get the after part.