Page 20 of Second Chance Ex
I want to help him, but I don’t know how. I have absolutely no experience with this. My family life, my parents, are almost perfect. I mean my mother was banned from any and all PTA related events because she got cause stealing Tupperware lids at bake sales, simply because she was sick of losing her own lids and didn’t want to fork out for brand new sets. But other than the fact that she gets watched like a hawk at Fourth of July barbecues and neighborhood potlucks, she’s a great mom. My life is almost picture-perfect. I know nothing about the kind of pain Joey’s been forced to endure in his short life. I don’t know how to help him. But what I do know is that he needs someone right now. And I’m the only one here. So, I gently pullthe duvet up higher, trying not to ogle his muscular chest.
“Are you warm enough?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me down so I’m effectively lying on top of him. We’re so close, with nothing more than the duvet between us, and I can feel his heart, his warmth, feel his tension slowly begin to slip away the longer we stay like this.
“Your parents are something else.” Joey chuckles and I feel it vibrate through his chest and into mine.
I groan because bysomething else, he probably means mortifying and I wouldn’t blame him. My mother casually whipped up a batch of her banana muffins while Joey was in the shower, and then proceeded to practically force feed him. And Dad, after throwing Joey’s clothes in the washing machine, gave him some spares to wear including a pair of his boxers. Yes, my father’s worn—thankfully washed—boxer shorts.
I groan again. “Yeah, sorry about them. I should’ve warned you.”
“Nah, they’re awesome,” Joey says. “Actually, it was kind of nice. I didn’t know parents could be like that.”
“Like what?” I quirk a brow.
“Like… actual parents. Caring. Nurturing. Not drunk or fighting.”
My heart hitches at his words. And I want to ask him about what happened tonight, why his father hit him, but the moment isn’t right, so I don’t.
“They really love each other, that’s for sure.” Joey’s arm tightens around me ever so slightly. “You’re lucky, Prue.”
I look up at him then, and my mind flashes back tothe sad words he wrote to me, to the words that are ingrained in my mind. Then, knowing I shouldn’t, but unable to stop myself, I wriggle my way under the duvet, sidling up even closer to him, placing my hand over his bare chest, his heart. He stiffens momentarily, and I can feel him hold onto a breath as his eyes search mine.
“Is this okay?” I whisper, hoping I’m not hurting him.
He nods on a trembling exhale.
“Joey, you know how you said in your letter that nothing hurts worse than when love goes wrong?”
He looks at me, brow creased, but he nods again.
I swallow the lump of nerves at the back of my throat. “Well, the thing is, my parents are living proof that… sometimes love doesn’t go wrong.”
Joey stares at me for a few beats, and my gaze dips to his lips before meeting his eyes again, the air between us suddenly heady with something powerful, it’s like an invisible force that pulls us even closer. I watch his tongue dart out, rolling slowly over his bottom lip and, with his eyes still firmly fixed on mine, he leans in closer and closer until we’re almost touching, until the anticipation is just about killing me. And then our mouths meet in a kiss so unexpectedly soft and tender, tentative and meaningful, it steals my breath. And I know, at that very moment, no matter what happens, Joey Tanner is end-game for me.
Iwas held up at school this afternoon, talking with some parents about their son who has been more concerned with doodling rather than learning. Normally, I can handle this kind of thing myself. A lot of children allow their minds to wander during class. Only this particular child favors drawing pictures of penises, and I am absolutely not equipped to deal with whatever is going on there. I got our school guidance counselor, Manny, involved and we brought the parents in.Not a great conversation to have, but thankfully Manny took the lead while I sat there nodding and tried not to giggle like a goddamn twelve-year-old at the evidence.
Once we were done with the awkward conversation, I had to rush to make it to Santa Rosa to meet Madison and the girls at the bridal store for our first fitting. To say I’m flustered by the time I arrive is an understatement; it’s been raining allday, so the winding roads were super slippery, the traffic was brutal, and my hair is currently a delightfully frizzy mess.
I hurry into the sleek and high-end looking bridal store, and I’m immediately met by a beautiful brunette holding a tray of crystal flutes filled with sparkling wine. I smile tightly, taking a proffered drink, hurrying through the space to the gaggle of excited girls all looking up at Heather as she stands in the center of a podium dressed in a gown that I can only pray to whatever God might listen isn’t a bridesmaid dress contender.
Madison glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up. “What do you think?”
I look from her, to Heather, and back again, my smile waning. “About?”
She rolls her eyes indulgently. “The dress, obviously!”
I offer Heather another glance, finding something almost fearful in her eyes that is gone the second Madison’s gaze lands on her again. I take a seat on the chaise next to my best friend, swallowing a fortifying mouthful of wine and almost choking on the bubbles. “Um, I mean…it’s a little…orange.”
Madison scoffs. “It’s not orange, Prue, it’sTuscansunset.”
So, still orange, but okay.
“Anyway…” Madison flicks her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “It’s not thecolorwe’re looking at. It’s the design.” She flashes me a pointed look. “If you’d been here on time, you’d know this.”
I bite back the retort that threatens me, like the fact that some of us have real jobs and don’t dick about with clothes orfold scarvesall day, but I choose to focus myefforts on the dress instead, which, if you look beyond the unflattering color that totally clashes with Heather’s red hair, it is quite elegant. Brushed satin, floor length with a thigh-high split, a cinched waist with side cut outs, and skinny straps that dip into a low v at the front and the back. It looks good on Heather but she’s a five-foot-ten stick insect; I’m not quite sure I can pull it off.
“What color are you thinking?” I ask cautiously.
