Page 77 of Second Chance Ex
“Okay, folks, last few, I promise.” The photographer takes a few snaps.
He points at Heath. “You! Stop looking like you’re trying to make love to the camera. It’s weird and unnecessary.America’s Next Top Modelyou ain’t.”
Then he points a finger at Milly. “Honey, if you could quit rolling your eyes, that’d be great.”
“JT, if you can move closer and place your hand on Maid of Honor’s hip.”
This guy is a total dick, but I swear, I could hug him right now.
“Ryan, I want you to dip Madison on the count of three and kiss her.”The man grins cockily, holding up a hand in question. “Come on, folks. This is a wedding. If we can at leastpretendto act as if love is in the air, that’d be great.”
“Barf,” Heather murmurs.
Per the photographer’s orders, I take a step forward, effectively pressing up flush against Prue’s back. I hear her sharp intake of breath, and when I place my hand on her hip, her body goes momentarily rigid before relaxing some.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Youshouldbe,” she hisses over her shoulder, smiling unconvincingly for the camera. When the man busies himself by pressing a few buttons on his DSLR, Prue takes the opportunity to glance back at me, a steely look in her eyes. “Did you even know that that t-shirt was signed by Nick?Nick!”
Oh, shit. She read the letter. Again, I’m forced to fight my grin.
“Okay, Ryan,” the photographer calls loudly, “on the count of three…”
I’m officially a twenty-five-year-old child, avoiding Joey like he has boys’ germs.
Sure, we entered the reception together, and I was forced to hold myself back from grabbing one of the cute little cocktail umbrellas out of someone’s drink and shoving it in his eye as we congaed into the barn like morons to Jay Z and the Queen B singingCrazy in Love. But once the bridal party entrance was complete, I made a beeline to my side of our table, he went to his side, and I’ve been doing all I can to avoid and ignore him at all costs ever since.
Did his hand feel good on my waist as we took photos? Shamefully, yes.
Does he look entirely fuckable dressed in that goddamn tuxedo? Unfortunately, yes
Do I want nothing more than to kiss him right now? Ugh, no comment.
I finish my first glass of rosé, forcingmy gaze as far from Joey’s direction as I possibly can. But, it’s hard. He’s currently dancing toMy Girlwith Ryan’s niece, the adorable flower girl, and I’m not ashamed to say it’s doing an unfortunate number on me, because it’s almost like I’m forced to look at what could’ve been.
All I can say is thank God I’ve only had one drink, because any more and I’d likely be blinking back tears right now.
“May I have this dance?”
I startle from the overwhelmingly emotional thoughts consuming me, looking up to see my father standing there, appearing very proud, holding his hand out for me. Smiling, I take his proffered hand, allowing him to help me up and walk me to the dancefloor. Following his lead, I sway a little unsteadily to the song because let’s face it, I’m a terrible dancer.
“You look beautiful, Prue Bear.” Dad grins at me.
“Thanks, Dad.” I smile. But then I remember I’m pissed as hell at my father right now, and anger bubbles in my belly getting the better of me before I can stop myself. “I can’t believe you accepted a bribe from Joey!”
My raised voice attracts the attention of the people dancing nearby. I lower my volume, offering my father a pointed look. “He told me he gave you football tickets in exchange for my address.”
“Boxseats,” Dad says as if that makes it any more acceptable. He also doesn’t miss a beat, effortlessly continuing to guide me through a casual two-step as The Temptations continue crooning in the background.
And honestly, all I can do is stare at the man.
“Oh, Prue Bear,” my father says after a moment, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “We both know hewould have gotten your address one way or another. Ryan sold you the house, for goodness’ sake.”
I roll my eyes. Not the point, but whatever.
AsMy Girlfades into another song I don’t immediately recognize, my father’s face breaks into a great big smile, and I manage a small smile in return because how can I be mad at a face like that. But then I notice he isn’t smiling at me; his gaze is focused on something—or someone, rather—behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Joey standing right there. And when I suddenly realize the song that’s playing—Joeyby Concrete Blonde, for chrissake—I’m certain my face is like thunder.
“Mind if I cut in?”
