Page 264 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Riley brings her prayin’ hands to her lips. “If I asked you for somethin’… would you say yes?”

He shifts, studyin' her. “Thought that’s why I was here in the first place. You sayin’ you got more broken shit for me, Miss Independent?” He stretches a hand out between them. “Fair warnin’, if it’s a clogged toilet, better call a plumber. I don’t deal with actual shit.”

“No…” she says slowly. “What if it was… somethin’ else?”

His gaze drifts from Riley, to Jules, who’s still perched on the barstool, drink danglin’ in one hand. She’s not smilin’ like Riley is. She’s waitin’, curious, skeptical.

Yeah, they’re both suspicious as hell.

“C’mon—spit it out,” he says.

“Told her about what you do… y’know... for girls.” Riley drops her head—bit lip, raised brow, full coquette from Bucks County. Jules laughs into her drink. “She thought I was full of shit,” Riley continues, shruggin’. “She’s in town for the weekend—one weekend. That’s all we got. And yeah… we’re both kinda… in a mood. So we were hopin’ you’d come through for us.”

Andrew stares at the wall behind her, still confused about what she’s askin’ for. Makes him feel dumb for not readin’ between the lines, all ‘cause he don’t wanna jump to conclusions. “You wanna be a little clearer on what kind of favor you’re askin’ for, or we gonna keep beatin’ around the bush?”

He didn’t mean to snap, but damn.

The fuck’s happenin’?

You’re my friend’s sister.

Don’t do this, Ry. Don’t ask what I think you’re about to fuckin’ ask. Don’t put me in that position.

Riley lays her fingers on his arm. “C’mon, this is, like, on our bucket list… two best friends, one unforgettable night. Please, go down on us at the same time?” Delivered with a grin and zero shame. “I swear, Harding… you’re, like, the only guy I’d even feel comfortable doin’ this with, and I would never tell my brother,” she says, side-eyein’ her friend. “I told her you make it safe, and that you’re not a creep. I could ask maybe Carlos or Frankie… or hell,” she laughs, facin’ Jules, “some rando at the bar, but that’s kinda scary.”

Uh… yeah. I’d have to fuckin’ agree.

Guy could be a psycho, turn on ‘em both. What the hell’s wrong with her?

But he ain’t stupid. He sees the psychological play: if you don’t do this, then I’ll pick some rando at the bar and die and it’d be all your fault.

Unless… she actually would and she ain’t bluffin’.

“Riley, that ain't me anymore. Savin' myself for marriage now.” He says it with a half-smile—one part truth, one part joke.

“Stop playin',” she rolls her eyes, “You're Andrew Harding. The guy who gives every girl their fantasy, and the one time I ask—me, your friend of five years—all of a sudden, you're savin' yourself for marriage? What? Is it 'cause it's me? If it is, just say that.”

He doesn't know what the fuck to say.

She sighs, shoulders droppin’. “I really need you, and I trust you.”

Then he feels like shit.

She’s just hangin’ with her friend, wantin’ to experience somethin’ they always talked about, with someone who won’t cross a line, someone who won’t take advantage of ‘em. And she came to him for a reason. ‘Cause he was all those things.

“Matty’d fuckin’ kill me,” he tries to reason. “I can’t⁠—”

She shakes her head fast. “Swear, I would never tell him. I would never fuck up your friendship.” She shrugs. “And if we’re bein’ honest? He’d trust me with you more than some stranger, anyway.”

He scratches the back of his head, pulls on the nape with a faint smile—nothin’ behind it. He ain’t agreein’, he’s surrenderin’. ‘Cause how the hell do you keep sayin' no? What other reasons does he got?

Nah, ‘cause… I’m not feelin’ it tonight?

Nah, ‘cause… I don’t feel comfortable?

Nah, ‘cause… I don’t like how it makes me feel?

I, I, I… Those ain’t reasons. Those are I-don’t-want-to bullshit excuses they’d take personal, like it was about them ‘cause she knows damn well he’s done this many times before for complete strangers. And if he says no, then they’re mad, lookin’ at him like he let ‘em down, disappointed ‘em, and he’ll feel guilty for… what? For not doin’ somethin’ he could’ve easily done? For drawin’ a line made of fog?