Page 12 of Second Chance Ex
Isn’t it funny when you know someone so well, on a deep, existential level, when you’veshared every part of yourself with them, when they were once an extension of your physical being, it’s almost like you can sense them in the air. All I saw was the slightest flash from the corner of my eye, which, in a crowd like this, could have been literally anyone. But now, standing on the platform overlooking the sea of party guests, my suspicion is confirmed.
Joey walks through the back yard, at least a few inches taller than everyone else, stopping every few feet to say hi to someone, to shake a hand, to kiss a cheek, all while smiling that well-versed smile he’s perfected over the years. He looks bigger, if that’s even possible. And his shoulders look broader. His hair is cut short at the back and sides, slightly longer on top, styled to within an inch of its life which contradicts the trademark few days’ worth of stubble he keeps trimmed into a neat beard.
He works the crowd better than anyone I know; he has this seamless ability to charm the pants off people with his boyish grin, wrapping each of them around his little finger. It’s all an act, though. Joey hates crowds, and he hates being the center of attention; but he knows it’s all part of the gig; the NFL’s MVP has a part to play on and off the field.
He’s dressed in an impeccable suit that fits him in a way as if it’s been designed for his body only, sewn directly onto him. The white shirt beneath his jacket skims his muscular body, the top few buttons left open, sans tie which he’s always refused to wear simply due to his inability to tie them. And I hate to admit it, but even after all this time, he still manages to take my breath away.
“Can I help you?”
I ignore the DJ, wholeheartedly captivated by the one and only Joey Tanner. He’s like a magnificent work of art; it’s impossible not to stare. And it’s as I’m watching Joey work the crowd, do his thing, attracting the unwanted attention of almost everyone here, I spot her. At first, I thought she was just there, just another party guest wearing a little too much makeup and not nearly enough dress. But then she catches up to him and Joey stops, turning back to her and smiling, placing his big hand at the small of her back and introducing her to someone. And I should have known. It was ridiculous to think he wouldn’t have met someone in the time we’ve been apart, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell. My heart stammers painfully in my chest.
“Did you need something, or what?” The impatient DJ waves an obnoxious hand in my face, but when he does, he hits his microphone and it falls out of its stand and onto one of the records spinning, causing the music to stop unexpectedly, followed by a deafening metal upon metal sound which screeches through the air and forces the entire party to come to a pause.
Every single head turns in the direction of the DJ’s booth. All eyes on us. And suddenly, Joey Tanner’s inky gaze is directly on me.
The moment our eyes meet, I feel it on a molecular level, and naturally, the first thing I do is panic. While the DJ curtly apologizes to the crowd, quickly switching to a new, upbeat song, I find myself doing what any normal, level-headed woman might do. I drop to the floor, crouching down as low as I can, hiding behind the DJ’s deck. But as I do, my worst nightmare becomes reality at the unmistakable sound of material tearing. Igasp, feeling the seam of my cheap dress rip apart, followed by the whisper of a cool breeze hitting the bare skin right above my ass.
Oh my god. I’m crouched down right in front of the DJ as if I’m about to give him a fucking blow job, and the back of my dress has been ripped apart. Perfect, Prue. Just perfect.
Me: I need your help!
I’ve been hiding out in the powder room just off the kitchen for at least ten minutes, sending text after desperate text to Madison, begging her to come to my rescue. She hasn’t onlynotresponded, she’s not even read my damn messages. Surely, she can’t still be doing Ryan in the shower.
I take a conciliatory swig from the bottle of rosé I swiped from the kitchen on my way past, after practically bolting from the party as if my life depended on it, all while desperately trying to hold my dress together to prevent everyone from seeing my half-naked ass.
Standing from my makeshift seat on the closed toilet, I twist slightly so I can see myself in the mirror, assessing exactly how bad the damage is. Sadly, it hasn’t miraculously improved in the last ten minutes.The concealed zip has been rendered absolutely useless now that the seam has torn apart, the material gaping open all the way down to the very top of my nude thong. I doubt I could be more embarrassing if I tried. I’m sure Joey’s beautiful new blonde isn’t at all embarrassing. I bet she’s never torn a dress while wearing it. I bet she’s perfect in every possible way, or at least relatively normal.
I grab the wine, gulping back a few hearty mouthfuls in the hope that it’ll help drown my sorrows. But then suddenly the door flies open behind me and, while necking abottleof rosé, I’m rendered frozen by the ghost of boyfriends past standing right there over my shoulder, our eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror.
Joey’s handsome face is stark, brows drawn together in apparent confusion and what I can only assume to be blatant discomfort.
Swallowing around the lump that’s lodged itself at the back of my throat, I place the bottle on the bathroom counter and act as calm, cool and casual as I can, like I’ve not just been caught swigging directly from a wine bottle in a toilet at my best friend’s engagement party.
I turn to face Joey with a smile, clearing my throat. “Hi.”
Joey’s ocean blue eyes look from me, to the wine bottle, to my heels strewn in the corner, to the gaping hole in the back of my dress. His gaze meets mine and we just stare at one another for a long moment. But then, instead of turning and leaving like I half-expect him to do, he continues inside, closes the door behind him and proceeds to the toilet while casually unzipping his trousers.
No, he isn’t. He’s not. He can’t be.
I quickly come to. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he says casually over his shoulder. And sure enough, less than a second later, well, we all know how this story goes, don’t we?
I mutter an expletive under my breath, turning away, and doing all I can to ignore him. But it’s like a hose. I close my eyes, wishing I was anywhere else but right here in this moment while Joey pisses like a racehorse. I huff an exasperated sigh and reach for the wine because what else am I supposed to do to pass the time?
“What is it with you and bathrooms, Prue?”
I turn my head, glaring at Joey’s back as he appears to shake himself dry, zipping his trousers back up before flushing. Then he turns back around, looking at me, a lop-sided grin curling his lips. “I mean, we really do need to stop meeting like this.”
I stare at him, deadpan, despite the flush heating my cheeks.
Joey chuckles under his breath, stepping around me to wash his hands. And I’m suddenly angry. How is he so effortlessly casual, so unaffected? This is literally our first interaction in almost two years, and he’s joking about me and bathrooms? I’m speechless, bumbling, barely even breathing, and he’s lathering his hands with soap as if he has all the time and not a single care in the world. It’s infuriating, and I don’t even know why.
I wasn’t quite sure how our reunion might play out when we were finally forced together again after everything that had happened. When things ended between us, they ended badly. For two years I’ve been dreading this exact moment, expecting sometumultuous row if we were ever to come face to face again. I’d imagined shouting, tears, maybe even something being thrown across the room with dramatic flair. I certainly hadn’t been expecting this casual, light-hearted air of indifference.
“You doin’ okay?”
Snapping out of my thoughts, I find Joey watching me in the mirror, that trademark grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.God he’s beautiful. I clear my throat, loathing my own thoughts, and square my shoulders in an attempt to appear a little more in control of my emotions. But then when I meet his eyes in the reflection, I’m momentarily lost within that all-too familiar penetrative gaze. With one look, it’s suddenly just the two of us again, the outside world and the last couple of years simply ceasing to exist. That look in his eyes combined with his closeness makes the faint hairs on my arms stand on end, brings goosebumps to pebble the surface of my skin, my breath catching in the back of my throat. And I hate that even after all this time, after everything we’ve been through, he can still dothisto me with just one look.
