Page 409 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

The skyline’s bleeding noir.

Like the city got stabbed in the chest,

and a gothic sunset poured out.

The wind sneaks up the side of the penthouse and slips over the terrace wall, mean little fingers digging into my clothes and behind my ears.

Ben sees me and drops the weights,

scoops up his water bottle,

and sits on the bench.

“Hey, Baby,” he says, caution threaded through. He uncaps the water and chugs half the bottle down, eyes on me—Andrew’s fist still on one of them, the bone near his nose bruised brown.

“Three years,” I say. “Three whole years, that’s how long you managed not to be this fuckin’ stupid. So tell me, Ben, what’s the punishment clause if a Boy puts his hands on me?”

His elbows fall to his knees,

and he tilts his head up at me,

wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

“We really gotta do this?” He lets out a bitter chuckle, chin tucked, eyes up. “I ain’t mean nothin’ by it, Baby. I was playin’. That’s all it was. Normal girls laugh at shit like that.”

My laugh falls out strangled. “A joke?” My smile stays, cutting up the bottom half of my face. “Is that what we’re calling it now? You tried humiliating me in my own house. Left your handprint on my body. Now we’re filing it under funny?”

He stands, swiping a towel from the bar, dabs sweat off his skin. “You’re overreacting,” he mutters, then blows right past me.

Past me.

His words hook me, and spin me around until I’m staring at his back as he walks inside.

The door slams, rattling the glass.

The shock of it nails my feet to the grass.

The fuck is happening?

For a fraction of a second,

I’m stunned so stupid,

I forget I’m Baby.

I forget he’s a Boy.

I forget that I fucking live here.

The wind knocks me forward, reminding me who I am.

And I hate that I’m following him inside.

I’ve never followed Ben or a Boy.

Boys follow me. Boys wait on me.

Boys live in my house, by my rules.