Page 33 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Soon as the door swings open, I lean sideways, closer to her, the words coming out fast before the next guy makes it to the table. “Oh, nothin’… Just took part in sexual intercourse with a six-point-five inch penis Thanksgiving night.”

Celie’s wide eyes slowly turn to me,

mouth opening⁠—

Treyson approaches the table.

// BOY #2 //

He’s wearing a gold chain, a crisp black tee, with Bronx all over his walk.

He offers me a nod, but his eyes are all over Celie, refusing to leave her. “Nice to meet you.” He reaches for Celie’s hand first. “You must be Baby.”

Celie chokes on her coffee.

“Wrong,” I say, tapping the edge of the pen against the table.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “My bad,” he says, then looks right at her. “Saw her smile and got hopeful.”

I can’t blame him. I’ve seen that smile get free drinks, free weed, and get her out of three parking tickets.

Celie glances away, cheeks blushing.

I gesture to the chair. “Sit.”

He grabs a handful of Starburst—reds, pinks, a rogue orange—then drops into the chair without looking at me.

Celie cups her mouth, side-whispering,

“Define what handful means, please.

“We talkin’ greedy or generous?”

My eyes narrow on him.

“Let’s just say he takes what he wants and doesn’t ask permission first.”

He’s watching Celie smile,

subtle as siren.

“So.” I flip the folder open. “Treyson Morales. Bronx native. Massage therapist. Personal trainer. CPR-certified.” I scan down. “Cool. So if you happen to choke on that thirst for my friend here, you can resuscitate yourself.”

He glances at Celie again. “I just—” His eyes steer back to me, but they don’t stay long. “Look, I know I’m here for you. But your homegirl got a pretty smile that’s messin’ with me, and I ain’t tryna be rude not acknowledgin’ it.”

I shut the folder. “You’re aware this is an official interview?”

He shrugs. “Baby, I’m officially into her. Respectfully.”

Celie snorts while pretending to scroll through her phone.

I fall back in the chair, tossing the pen on top of the folder. “Interview’s over. If she wants you, I’ll slide her your number.”

Treyson stands, grin slanted as he looks between us. “To be real? I’mma keep thinkin’ about you ‘til you hit me up.”

He looks at her with that wrecked, starry-eyed gaze, the same gaze Andrew wears whenever he’s looking at me, and seeing it from the outside guts me.

I shoo him out the door. “Alright. Alright. Show’s over. Go.” The second the door clicks shut, I tip my head back with a groan. “You gotta be kidding me.” I shove the folder forward across the table. “I’m tryin’ to run a business here.”