Page 3 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

His face was a mess—a bleedin’ statue in a cold-ass alley.

He never said a word, so I walked.

‘Cause if I stayed?

I was gonna fuckin’ kill him.

And I ain’t goin’ down for that piece of shit.

NO. 06: THE SMUG SON OF A BITCH

// GINO; VANESSA’S EX FIANCEE - OCT ’22 - SUNOCO GAS STATION - NEWARK, NJ //

“Harding? Oh Jesus, here we fuckin’ go.

Ayo, lemme set the fuckin’ scene for you: Bronx boy in Brick City on a Wednesday night, tryna gas up and bounce.

I come strollin’ outta the Sunoco off 21 with my usual: grape Arizona, Hot Fries, and a thick-ass grudge I ain’t know I still had simmerin’, and lo an’ fuckin’ behold I see this skinny-ass punk posted up on his dusty Civic, pumpin’ gas while scrollin’ on his phone, hoodie up and head down like he famous.

At first? Didn’t pay no attention to him. He was background noise with one of those punchable pretty-boy faces. Didn’t recognize him at first.

But yo, some faces? You feel it in your fists before your brain catches up. Then I see the Jersey lean and those fucked-up, heavy eyes—half-shut, post-pussy nap eyes. And I’m like nah. Nah. Can’t be him, bro.

But it was that motherfucker.

Been waitin’ months to cross paths with this piece’a shit—months.

This the same Jersey lowlife who bent Vanessa over her own goddamn Camry. Same trunk I used to lean on after teachin’ her how to parallel park up in the Heights. He had her gettin’ her ass ate while she’s sneakin’ a smoke break behind Popeyes. Meanwhile, she got a whole ring waitin’ on layaway.

And me? I’m payin’ for her lashes, her Uber Eats, got her on my Spotify Premium and Netflix accounts, thinkin’ we buildin’ a future, tellin’ my moms she’s the one. Meanwhile she’s out here gettin’ her pussy licked between fried chicken orders by this wannabe playboy with a five-dollar chain and a Honda soundin’ like it’s got asthma.

I ain’t say nothin’ at first and watched his ass while I pumped my gas, hand grippin’ the nozzle like a .45, tryna keep my pulse from tappin’ outta my throat. Then I ditched the act, walked straight up to him.

‘Yo, you Harding?’

This guy looks up with them droopy-ass lids, an’ he goes, ‘Who’s askin’?’

Fuckin’ Jersey boys—always actin’ calm ‘til you knock their teeth out.

Shit got me heated. ‘Cause my girl cried when she told me what happened. Said he was all talkin’ in her ear, ‘Don’t overthink it,’ right before he went down. Told her, ‘If your fiancé don’t eat your pussy better than me? Leave his ass.’

I got up on him real close, nose to nose. ‘You had the nerve to take advantage of my girl, then never even finished the job.’

His brows bunch up all confused on his lazy-ass face. ‘Couldn’t’ve been me, bro.’ Then he leaned in like we boys. ‘I always fuckin’ finish.’

I snapped with a swing.

One punch, knuckles to the mouth, his head jerkin’ sideways.

He stumbled back, hawked blood right by the squeegee bucket, then wiped his lip with the sleeve of his raggedy-ass hoodie.

‘Don’t front. Had to cancel the whole wedding.’ I narrowed my eyes with a cocked head. ‘Wanna know how much money I lost from that shit?’

This smug sonofabitch looks me dead in the eye, and goes, ‘Yo—whoever your girl was? She begged for it. I don’t go lookin’, man. She came to me. If I would’ve known? I woulda walked. Swear t’God. I don’t touch another man’s girl. She wasn’t wearin’ a ring and she ain’t say nothin’.’

Felt my temples throbbin’. ‘You smilin’? You think this shit’s a joke?’

I shoved his ass, bounced the punk off the pump, an’ he righted himself, all Jersey-proud, glancin’ at the Sunoco sign off the road. ‘Nah,’ he said, wipin’ the blood off his lip with his thumb. ‘But your girl? She’s hilarious. Real committed.’ He lifted his chin. ‘Real wife material.’