Page 25 of Second Chance Ex
He doesn’t look at all disappointed, but I still feel bad.
“Rain check?”
“You know it.”He winks at me.
I force a smile. If Adam wasn’t as attractive as he is, his wink would probably be borderline creepy. But he manages to pull off a wink like nobody’s business, and my cheeks flush involuntarily in response.
“Have a good night,” I say, looking down at my laptop in an attempt to end the conversation. Because the thing is with Adam, if you don’t break first, he’ll just linger, and then the moment becomes unnecessarily awkward and uncomfortable for everyone. Sometimes I think he might like me, likereallylike me, the way he’s always hanging around, asking me out, finding reasons to talk to me. But then I remember that he’s quite possibly the biggest player in all of Rosewood and he has been ever since high school, so I quickly quash that idea.
Thankfully, Adam takes the hint, offers me a casual wave and walks out of my classroom. And I go back to my phone, flipping it over to torture myself with Joey’s text messages and the potential reasoning behind his unexpected contact. But then I remind myself that I’m a grown ass woman. So, my trepidation makes way for a false sense of bravado that comes out of nowhere, and I tap out my reply and quickly press send before I canstop myself. But now, as I stare at my response, I can’t help but think it might come off as a littletooexcited. Maybe even, God forbid, desperate? Oh God, what have I done?
Me: Hey Joey! Sure! I’m free whenever! ‘Sup?
I meanthreeexclamation marks? Calm down, Prue.
And don’t even get me started with the‘Sup… what am I? A skater boy from 1998?
I mentally facepalm. Then I physically facepalm, burying my face in my hands because what the hell is wrong with me?
When my phone vibrates on the desk, I reluctantly peer through my fingers at the screen finding his reply.
Joey: I know it’s short notice, but I’m in town right now. Wanna meet up for a drink at the Shed?
Now? Panicked, I look down at myself. I’m wearing a dress with literal crayons printed all over it for chrissake.Andmatching crayon earrings. I mean, it’s a killer outfit choice for a third-grade teacher, but for meeting my ex at the local taphouse for a drink? Most definitely not. But what choice do I have? I glance at my watch. There’s no way I can get home, change, and make it to The Shed without it being totally obvious that I made an effort to go home and change for him. And that’s the last thing I want. God, I’m pathetic.
A figurative lightbulb goes off above my head and I pull open the bottom drawer of my desk, finding the old makeup bag I’d forgotten about. Inside are a few tampons, some cheap emergency perfume, deodorant, acan of dry shampoo, an old mascara that looks a little clump, and a red lipstick I think might have passed its shelf life but is the best I can manage at a time like this. I know it’s not going to fix my current state of after-school dishevelment, but let’s face it, if anyone has seen me at my worst it’s Joey.
What I love most about Rosewood, is that here, I’m still just Joey. I’m not Joey Tanner, from the Sacramento Grizzlies. I’m not Joey Tanner, the highest paid defensive end in the League. I’m not Joey Tanner, MVP for the last two years in a row. I’m just me. The same old Joey I’ve always been. Rosewood locals don’t treat me any different than they did when I was a kid growing up here. They don’t give a shit who I am. Here, I’m just Joey, and that’s what I love most about coming home.
I live just outside Sacramento so I’m close to the stadium and the training center, and it’s less than an hour drive from Rosewood. I’m still close enough to get here quickly in case of an emergency like if my little brother, Jack, ever needs me, or at times like this, when I lie through my fucking teeth and ask my ex to meet me for a drink because I’m ‘in town’. Spoiler alert; I wasn’t exactly ‘in town’ like I toldPrue I was in my text message. Sure, I was on my way, but I was still a good thirty-minutes out. But, since I’m here now, perched in a booth in the very back of The Shed, nursing a beer, my whereabouts when I messaged Prue is nothing more than a minor, insignificant detail she doesn’t need to know. Yes, I am pathetic; it’s been well-documented by the team therapist.
“Hey JT, can I get a photo, please?”
I glance sideways, finding a young kid staring up at me, a hopeful smile lighting up his face, and a woman I assume is his mom standing over his shoulder eyeing me like a piece of meat, like a lot of the moms do. They must be new around here.
“Sure thing, buddy.” I grin, heaving myself out of the booth.
I crouch down, wrapping an arm around the kid’s slight shoulders, smiling at the mom as she takes a couple steps back. She aims her phone at us and gets a few snaps, and the kid is so stoked. I love these interactions. Kids are the best. They’re so genuine. I love that I can make their whole fucking year by simply posing with them for a photo. But of course, the mom has to go and fucking ruin the moment. When I feel a hand on my arm, I turn quickly, finding the kid’s mom looking up at me, fluttering scarily long lashes at me, her lips a little poutier than they were mere seconds ago.
“Mind if I get a photo too, JT?” she practically purrs.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I move robotically, standing beside her probably a little awkwardly.
My rule with ladies is that I don’t touch them. Kids, it’s usually cool if I wrap an arm around their shoulder.Dudes are the same. But for my own safety, when it comes to the females, I prefer to keep my distance because there is so much shit that goes around on social media of celebs—particularly professional football players—being accused of feeling up women. Whether it’s true or not, I’m not one to judge, but I definitely don’t want to risk being labeled a creep. But this woman is simply not having it. She wraps her arm around my waist like it belongs there. She nestles in closer and I can’t help but stiffen a little. I’m forced to lift my arm and hold it in the air behind her at least a few inches away, so it at least looks like I’m reciprocating. Sure, I like to keep my hands off, but I also don’t want to be depicted as an arrogant dick.
The kid takes a few photos. The mom asks to review them only to then demand he try a different angle. And honestly, all I can think about is that my beer is going to go warm if this goes on any longer.
Thankfully, at that very moment, I get a feeling. Something familiar that pricks my skin in the best way. Instinctively my head turns toward the entrance of The Shed and, sure enough, there she is.
Prue walks in, and, man, she looks adorable, obviously straight from school. Beneath her jean jacket she’s wearing a dress with crayons all over it, the hem showing off her killer legs and a hint of her thick thighs. Teamed back with a pair of white Converse high-tops, she’s both adorable and fucking hot.
She nervously scans the pub, and almost immediately, her eyes meet mine. And I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not, but in the flash of an instant, something passes between us, something that makes my throat turn thick. She averts her gaze to the floor asshe continues in, head down, and I thank my lucky stars that I now have an excuse to say goodbye to this thirsty mom.
“Hey.” I greet Prue with a sideways hug that I’m sure she wasn’t expecting, if her reactive flinch is anything to go by. She eyes me dubiously, her gaze flitting briefly to the woman behind me before flashing back to mine as she sinks down into the booth.
“It was great to meet you,” I say with a generic smile to the woman, offering the kid a high five he accepts with vigor.
Thankfully, the mother and son duo leave without issue, although I don’t miss the slightly judgmental glance from the woman as she looks at Prue then at me again, walking off with an exaggerated sway of her hips. I roll my eyes before turning toward Prue, and I release the breath I’ve been holding as I slide in opposite her.
