Page 41 of Second Chance Ex
“Man, I hope so.” Adam sighs.
I snap my head up, glaring at him as he lingers in the open doorway of the bathroom. “Um, did you mean to say that out loud or did you just have a stroke?”
He shrugs. “Look, I ain’t gonna lie, P-Dubs…she’s fucking hot.”
I sit up on my elbows, watching as he walks over to his clothes, and I don’t bother to shy away when he removes his sweater and t-shirt and replaces it with a collared button down in preparation for our special welcome dinner.
“Hotter than me?” I almost laugh at my own question. It’s stupid to even ask. She’s an NFL cheerleader for chrissake; she’s hotter than most people.
Adam looks at me, and he at least has the decency to act like he’s contemplating the question. “She’s hot in that typicalinfluencerkinda way. You know? Big lashes, big lips, big tits.”
I roll my eyes at his blatant misogyny, although he’s not wrong.
“You’re hot in that girl-next-door way.”
“Girl-next-door?” I balk. “So, I’mhomely?”
He laughs out loud. “No. I mean, you’re… I don’t know… cute.”
“Cute is just another way of saying someone is ugly but endearing!”
Adam shakes his head. “You’re hot, but in a more… attainable way.”
I gawp at him.
He winces. “I’m really not helping, am I?”
I shake my head slowly.
“I’m just… gonna go down and… grab a drink... maybe walk out into the lake and drown myself… I don’t know.” He points to the door, and starts for it. But then he pauses, looking at me a moment. “Jessie’s hot, that’s a given, but… you’re Prue.”
My defense lessens enough for me to manage a smile because that was actually one of the sweetest things he’s ever said to me. I perk up a little at that confirmation. You’re goddam right I’m Prue.
Adam throws me a wave before exiting the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my headache, and I fall back against the mattress, dreading the next forty-eight hours, at least.
I freshenup and change into a pair of jeans, a fluffy off-the-shoulder pale pink knit and my trusty platformed UGGs. I know the recommended dress code for tonight is formal, but c’mon; we’re in a house in the mountains, it’s snowing out, and I am exhausted after this week. So, a sweeping of lip gloss and a spritz of perfume is the best I can do before I head downstairs to deal with an awkward as hell dinner with my ex and his latest squeeze, and my faux-boyfriend who seems to be missing a filter or two; not my idea of fun Friday night, but whatever.
The sound of merriment fills the air the closer I get to the dining room, everyone laughing and talking animatedly, the sound of silverware clanging againstfine china. Ugh. Sounds like hell. Just tap a bottle of wine to my veins and be done with it.
As I walk through the big doorway, I don’t miss the brief pause in conversation as I enter. I stop momentarily, looking out over the room to find everyone staring at me, and yikes; they really took the whole formal dress-code thing seriously. Heather is wearing sequins.Sequins, for chrissake.
“Hey, P!” Madison gasps at my arrival but then the excitement in her gaze disappears as she does a slow assessment of my outfit choice. Thankfully she doesn’t comment because I’m ready for a fight. “We started without you because Adam said you weren’t feeling well.”
I glance at Adam seated at the far end of the table. A slightly smug smile ghosts his lips, and I swear I could kiss and punch him at the same time, because I love that he anticipated my tardiness, but I also know he would have made the fact that I don’t feel well sound like my illness is due to something entirely made up like too many orgasms.
“Uh, yeah.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Just a headache. I’m okay. I took an Advil,” I mutter, scurrying to my designated chair right next to my fake-man.
I sit down and thankfully the conversation picks back up around the table, allowing me the chance to take the breath I need, but then Adam reaches out unexpectedly, gently cupping my cheek, his thumb grazing over my bottom lip in a move that makes me involuntarily stiffen and spear him with awhat-the-fuck-are-you-doingscowl. It’s only when I notice the knowinglook in his eyes that I remember this is the sole reason he’s here—our plan—and I need to ease up enough so that I don’t look as if his touch repulses me.
Adam leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and it’s then I realize the room has fallen silent. Again. I try to act casual, slowly pulling away from Adam, feeling my cheeks flame beneath the weight of everyone’s gaze. But as I flash a cursory glance around the table, my heart stops when I spot an intense inky gaze fixed directly on me.
Joey sits at the opposite end of the table right in my direct line of sight, and I don’t miss the way he’s clutching his steak knife like he’s about to go full Michael Myers and start chopping Adam into tiny pieces. His steely gaze flits from me to Adam and back again. I almost laugh because yeah, right, if his pretty little play thing was sitting any closer, she’d be straddling him. I avert my eyes, focusing instead on my wine glass. Myemptywine glass.
“A glass of cabernet, miss?”
I’m startled when a man wearing a crisp white shirt with a thin black tie appears by my side like magic, a bottle of red in his hand. With an appreciative smile, I nod. Is it bad table manners to ask him to just leave the bottle? He’s barely finished filling my glass before I reach for it, taking a hearty swig, anything to quell the unease settling around me.
I can still feel’s Joey’s piercing gaze from the other end of the table. It’s like an arrow, puncturing me. So, I do what any normal mature woman might do in this situation; I turn to Adam, bumping his knee with mine. When he glances at me, I offer him a soft smile, only this time it’s me who reaches for him, raking my fingersthrough his mop of dark hair, allowing my hand to linger at his nape. And, with another fortifying sip of wine, I lean in closer and press my lips to his in a chaste yet lingering kiss, fully aware of Joey’sif-looks-could-killgaze fixed on us the entire time.
