Page 55 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

But I still want you under me every night—a phrase so nonchalant and simple, like he’s ordering fucking pancakes at IHOP or some shit.

As if under-him-every-night doesn’t mean never-waking-up-alone-again.

His voice is too gentle for a statement that violent, too warm for words that cold-blooded.

And I hate how good it feels to think about pancakes and IHOP and waking up wrapped in his skin.

His breath traces my cheekbone, and his eyes are hooded, wet, tipsy, honest. “You say and do shit like that, Sonny? I can’t take it. First you won’t kiss me in a room full’a guys eye-fuckin’ you—one already had the balls to try. Then you hit me with some bullshit about bein’ single? Nah. Don’t do that to me.”

Eye-fucking?

You’re spiralin’ over eye-fucking?

Bro. Eye-fucked Brandon.

How can you not feel it all over my skin?

I should tell him. Right now.

My mind sets the ball for a field goal confession.

My heart goes in for the kick,

aiming the words up my throat.

Then his chest dips.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

My heart freezes, her foot an inch away.

Oh fuck me in the ass,

he’s about to say something scary.

I glance past Andrew’s shoulder.

Peter’s looking right at me,

and he mouths, told you,

before taking a cocky bite of his fry.

Andrew tugs me closer,

mouth right against my skin.

“I need to feel you.”

A laugh huffs out my nose.

“What’re you talkin’ about?

“Your hands are all over me now.”

“Yeah, but, like, I don’t want ‘em ever leavin’,” he rasps into my skin, then kisses under my ear. “Need to feel connected to you. Physically. Safe in my hands.” When his eyes find mine again, the smile’s lazy. “You’re my downbeat, Sonny.”

I stare at him, thawing fast, trying to force myself to laugh it off, to keep the fear of what it means from creeping in next, but I’m helpless.