Page 48 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

It takes two seconds for him to think,

then, “Aight,” he nods,

“but two’s my max.”

He taps the bar twice with his knuckle, and when the guy pops over, Andrew lists ingredients, nodding toward me, telling him the fresh shit only—no canned—and not to fuck it up.

And while he’s busy playing bartender through someone else’s hands, I’m mentally drawing backup plans.

Plan A: get him shit-faced,

tell him I fucked Brandon,

and pray he doesn't remember tomorrow.

Plan B: push some other girl at him.

Let him fuck her, so it cancels out what I did.

Plan C: get eaten alive by this lie that’s not even a lie ‘cause it’s not like we’re committed to each other.

Plan D: be a grown-up and confess.

Watch him walk and lose him

like I’m supposed to.

Peter’s palm hits Andrew’s chest.

“Yo, lemme steal you a sec.”

Andrew hesitates before being pulled a few feet away, but he stays close enough for my ears to pick up scraps.

Peter's in his ear, talking fast. “Swear I’m good for it. Just—Leo’s cast was three-fifty outta pocket. It’s off-season. I’m drowning. My sister’s drowning. You know how it is. I’m gonna need a few more weeks.”

Andrew’s not looking at him. He’s watching the screen—Giants down by six. “C’mon, man,” he mutters. “This ain’t the time.”

“I’m just sayin’. I know I owe you. I hate that feelin’, bro.”

A voice slams into me from my left⁠—

low, deep, and inches from my ear.

“So which is it?”

I flinch, turning fast,

expecting to see Hunter’s face.

Grim Reaper’s staring me down,

ink creepin’ up his neck.

I didn’t hear him walk up.

I didn’t hear a fucking thing.

The space beside me was empty ten seconds ago. Now it’s him, hunched over the bar, chained shadows in his eyes begging to be unleashed. “Giants or Eagles?” he asks.