Page 35 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

It’s that holy-shit panic.

The I-wasn’t-expecting-you-to-be-hot kind.

He reaches the table, stepping in—one foot forward, hand out. “Name’s Honor,” he says, palm flat against his chest. “Nice meetin’ you.”

“Honor? That’s what we callin’ you for real?” Celie says.

His eyes stay on mine, even when he takes Celie’s hand next. “Group home in North Philly. Strict as hell,” he explains. “Stripped our names and gave us values instead. Said it’d build character or some shit.” He squares his shoulders. “Worth. Hero. Noble. Prosper. Mercy. Creed.” He points at himself. “And Honor.”

“Honor,” I repeat, jerking my chin toward the glass bowl. “Pick one. Then have a seat.”

His fingers hover, hands veined. Orange.

The second he turns his back,

Celie’s in my ear. “Mm-hmm. It’s over.

“Baby’s stamped on his forehead.”

The chair legs scrape back as I stand.

“There’s only one way to test it.”

Honor slides into the chair,

one leg stretched out.

I step around the table. “She’s going to ask you questions,” I explain, nudging my head toward Celie. “I want you to answer every single one… eyes never leaving mine. Got it?”

He nods.

“Take it away, Celie.”

She scoots her chair under the table,

sits up taller,

then clears her throat.

“You eat ass?”

My eyes slowly close.

She’s an ass-eating evangelist

with zero anal experience.

Honor lifts his chin toward me.

“For you, yeah.”

Then Celie fires off after that: “How you handle jealousy? You strike me as the type to slash tires.”

Him: “Nah, I don’t do jealousy. I do loyalty. Raised in a Catholic foster home. You give me rules. I follow ‘em.”

I stand tall, pop the button on my dress pants slow, dragging the zipper down as I walk toward him.

He shifts in his chair,