Page 178 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I lose. Time to focus.

Seven solids. Seven stripes.

Eight clauses if I play this right.

Fuck me to hell.

I lift off the table and grab the nearest cue, testing its weight. “Fun fact, Jersey—I was conceived on a pool table.” I glance up. “Corner pockets and hustle? Runs in my DNA.”

His fist slides down his cue.

“You sayin’ I’m screwed?”

I grab the chalk and coat the tip.

“Don’t worry. It'll barely hurt.”

A heat-soaked laugh slips out of him, shaking his head as he bends over the table, his shoulders narrowing, eyes tunneling on the shot.

“Oh, and Drew?”

His eyes lift, cue stopped mid-stroke.

“Might wanna go ahead and sink the first three now. Y'know, to cover that ultimatum you dropped in my lap.”

I slap on a fake smile. “Those count.”

He throws the same fake smile back.

But when he looks at the felt again,

it melts into a real one.

Then he breaks—hard.

The crack of it ricochets,

balls scattering,

one solid dropping in with a hollow thud.

He’s on the move, circling the table,

scanning the spread.

I try not to watch the way his shoulders roll under his shirt, the bend at his hips, the way the cue slides between his fingers, but my gaze has a death grip.

He lines up another shot.

Sinks it.

Then another, three in a row.

He lowers for his fourth shot,

the amber light soaking his skin.

“Ultimatum’s done,” he says with a wink. “Now you’re stuck with me.”