Page 76 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Eli laughs.

“Yeah. Don’t hold it against me.”

Andrew clocks the roses as he pulls back. “Whatchu doin’, man? Droppin’ roses at her door?”

Eli gives another small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh—yeah, can’t go wrong with flowers. Universal rule.” Then he glances at me, seriousness raining down his expression now. “Actually, Allie, I was hopin’ I could grab a word with you, alone, ‘bout somethin’ important.”

“Yeah, of course.”

And we peel away a few steps.

To my left, Andrew’s bent over Mickey’s desk, talking to him, eyes following me, thumb drumming quick against his thigh.

I turn to Eli, and his shoulders pull tight.

“What the hell, Allie?” he says low, brown eyes wide. He lifts the roses, like he’s pointing somewhere off. “Why my accountant callin’ me sayin’ this transfer came from your personal account?” He sinks back on his hip, head cocked sideways. “Tell me you didn’t patch this bullshit outta pocket.”

My lungs deflate. “Eli⁠—”

“Nah, girl—” he cuts back in. “I’m pissed as hell, I’m grateful, and I don’t know if I oughta thank you or cuss you out.” His scoff comes out as a rough laugh. “Damn. It’s not supposed to run this way.”

I glance off, a lump in my throat. “I know.” I’ve got no answer that sounds logical. “It’s complicated right now…” I manage, and it sounds pathetic even to me.

Eli doesn’t push, but the worry’s carved deep in his face. “Seventy-five K?” he mutters, groan spilling out behind it. “Hell, my accountant’s gonna blow up your phone, askin’ a shit ton of questions.”

I shrug it off. “It’s fine. Falls on me. I pay my dad’s artists.”

“Your artists,” Eli argues as we drift back toward Mickey’s desk. “Corey’s gone, Allie. Only reason I’m still here is ‘cause of you.” He glances at Andrew, then back at me, shoulders sinking as he hands me the roses. “For real, thank you,” he lifts his fist, knowing I don’t like hugs. “One more year. Don’t let them assholes slide,” Eli says as my fist crashes into his.

He shakes Mickey’s hand, then Andrew’s. “I’ll get outta here.” He walks backward, finger pointing at me. “Couple days, and we’ll be standin’ in LA. Gonna be good times.”

I feel the stop in Andrew next to me.

Then his hand slips off the desk,

his spine steeling.

His eyes trail past me

and lock on Eli’s back as he walks out.

I know the story he’s writing in his head. First I tell him I fucked another man. Now I’m booked for Cali with roses in my hand. Wouldn’t shock me if he thinks it was Eli.

“Now go get frozen peas on that cheek,” Mickey insists. “Peas, not ice. Molds better. Trust me.”

My head tilts to the side.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it, doc.”

Mickey folds his arms across his chest, dad-mode. “No aspirin, you’ll bleed more. Tylenol only.” He squints at me. “And quit touchin’ the lip. “You’ll keep bustin’ it open. Let the lip crust... Use Vaseline, kid. Straight Vaseline.”

“Mick…” I shove the roses into his hands. “Here. Keep these. Stick ‘em in a vase.” He hunches, eyes slitted, so I rest my gaze on him. “C’mon. You know I don’t do flowers. I get attached, they die, then I’m throwin’ a funeral in my kitchen, bawlin’ my eyes out.”

He takes the flowers and shoots Andrew a look. “He ridin’ up with you?”

Andrew backs off. “Nah, I’m⁠—”

“You don’t want to?” the words leave me too fast, born from my chest and not my head.