Page 191 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I draw closer. “I’m not slammin’ the door on it for good. But for now… it needs to be in writing.”

His glasses come off, and he uses his shirt to wipe at the lenses, eyes narrowing at me through his lashes.

“Aight. Fuck.” He shoves them back on. Slides onto the stool in front of the laptop. “You got two stripes in,” he says over his shoulder. “What’s the other clause?”

I pick up my drink. “No aftercare.”

He swings a glance back at me,

one palm heavy on his thigh.

Our gazes hold,

each saying something different.

His: you really expect me to eat and leave?

Me: just in case I need to puke in peace.

Lately, it doesn’t seem to matter the sexual act, fucking or oral, it’s the oversaturated emotions warring in me.

I could admit that it's something that happens, that Thanksgiving night wasn’t a puke-fluke.

But then he’d go hero-mode on me.

First he’ll tread gentle, with caution,

like I’m breakable.

Try to outsmart it, even,

doing whatever he can to fix it.

Eventually,

that will turn into disappointment,

disappointment will turn into hesitation.

Then one night he’ll think twice.

Then he’ll stop touching me.

Then he’ll stop wanting me.

Then I’ll watch him walk.

“Okay, Allison. Adding no aftercare.”

// THE FINAL SHOT (& FINAL CLAUSE) //

“Two balls left on the felt,” I tell him, circling the table. “Cue and eight. Endgame.” They’re practically spooning on the felt, his for the taking. “Winner writes the last clause. No veto—not like you got one to use.”

I prop myself on the rail.

“So what’re you gunnin’ for?”

He grinds his tongue into his cheek. “If I take this game? You, Ben, and Honor—all three’a you are signin’ an amendment I got drawn up. No questions, no fuckin’ stalling. I want ‘em all signed this week.”