Page 54 of Second Chance Ex
“I said I’d stick around and wait for you to rise from the dead so I could drive you back,” Joey says with a casual shrug. “But there’s a storm rolling in. So, unless you wanna be stranded here tonight with no one but me—” he pauses briefly, his eyes meeting mine “—then you need to move your ass.”
I try not to dwell over the fact that my so-called friends just ditched me. Thanks, assholes. “D-do I at least have time for a shower?”
“A quick one.” Joey nods once. “I’ll make you a coffee to go.”
With one last fleeting look at him, I turn and practically run out of the kitchen and in the direction of the stairs. I cannot believe everyone just left. What the hell? I also cannot believe that I now have to sit in a car with Joey for the next three hours, but I’m really trying not to harp on about that fact. Plus, I guess three hours in a car has got to be better than being snowed in all alone with him in this house for the night; I’m really not sure my resolve against wanting to bump uglies with my ex would be able to last.
The tensionbetween Joey and I in the car has been borderline excruciating. I’ve been staring out the passenger window for so long that I have a neck cramp. My thumbnail is bleeding from where I’ve been consciously and subconsciously picking at the cuticle.And I’ve needed to pee for the last twenty minutes, but I haven’t wanted to say anything because I don’t want to be annoying. Unfortunately, the bladder situation is now dire on account of the extra big coffee Joey made for me.
“I need the bathroom.”
I glance sideways finding Joey staring straight ahead, his jaw set firm, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
I clear my throat, speaking a little louder. “Can we stop? I need to pee.”
He starts, head turning quickly, eyes meeting mine as a flash of recognition comes over him. He glances at the map on the screen in the dash and, with a nod, he flicks on the blinker and veers off at the next exit where there’s a Chevron sign lit up against the gloomy low-hanging cloud. And as soon as Joey pulls up to a stop outside the gas station, I’m out the door before he even cuts the engine.
Once I’m finished in the gas station bathroom, I hurry back out, surprised to find Joey waiting by the automatic doors for me. I eye him curiously. I didn’t even realize he’d come in after me. His hood is currently pulled up over his head, I assume in an attempt to try to conceal his identity, and it’s almost laughable; Joey Tanner is a living, breathing giant. Even if you didn’t know who is, you’d still assume he was some sort of professional athlete given his sheer size and the way he carries himself. But whatever helps him feel more at ease; he’s always been a little anxious in public. He loves playing football but he hates the fame; unfortunately for Joey the two go hand-in-hand, especially when you’ve been praised by the AssociatedPress as the best defensive end in the history of the game.
He’s holding a plastic carry bag and, if I’m not mistaken, I spy a pack of Sour Patch Kids in there, and honestly, my heart fucking melts. I try so hard to play it cool, like I’m not almost brought to my knees by a simple bag of candy, but the emotion that swells in my chest is almost uncontainable.
“You okay?” Joey asks.
I nod and he leads the way back out into the frigid afternoon, but when he stops to open the passenger door for me, I’m momentarily stilted. Pausing, I look up at him, but he casually glances out over at the gas pumps instead of meeting my eyes like it’s no big deal he’s being so chivalrous.
Hopping up into the cushy leather seat, I try to act nonchalant, but the second the door closes and Joey walks around to the driver’s side, I release the heavy breath I’ve been holding. My heart is seriously thumping so hard against my chest I’m afraid it's going to crack a rib.
“I got us some snacks,” Joey says as he settles in.
He places the bag on his lap and starts rifling through it, pulling out a bag of flaming Cheetos, a box of Milk Duds, and the aforementioned Sour Patch. He flashes me a knowing grin as he passes my favorite candy over. And I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s thinking back to prom—his prom, not mine—when all the senior boys were going above and beyond with their elaboratepromposals, Joey being one of them. He recruited a few of the junior varsity guys to fashion a Sour Patch trail from the library where I’d been studying during a free period, all the way out to thequad, where I found a crowd of students, Joey front and center, holding a sign with colorful letters that spelled out: PROM WOULD BE SOUR WITHOUT YOU. PLEASE MAKE IT SWEET AND BE MY DATE? I was his girlfriend so it was almost laughable—as if I wasn’t going to go to prom with my boyfriend—but it was still the sweetest gesture considering my love for Sour Patch.
The engine comes to life, as does the sound of a Foo Fighters song playing through the stereo. And as I smile down at the bag of watermelon flavored candy, the air in the car between Joey and me feels a little less awkward than it did before we stopped.
The rest of the drive back to Rosewood was a lot more tolerable; the sugar from the Sour Patch helped level me out, and Joey and I were actually talking and laughing. I even played DJ. And whenCruel Summercame on, Joey left me shocked by unexpectedly belting out the bridge like nobodies’ business. I gawped at him, my eyes wide, lips parted in revered awe, and once he finished, he simply glanced at me with a smugyeah-I-just-did-the-damn-thingsmile and continued driving as if he didn’t just recite Taylor Swift lyrics word-for-word. That man…
What happened between us last night in the club has been a moot topic of conversation, but it’s been weighing heavily on my mind. I don’t know if Joey’s been thinking about it non-stop like I have; if he has, he hasn’t shown any sign that he’s as conflicted as I am. He’s enviably cool and collected in that way he usually is, while all I keep rememberingis how I almost got myself off by dry-humping his leg in the middle of a goddamn nightclub. Needless to say, I’ve been trapped in this car with him for close to three hours and on more than one occasion I’ve found my eyes wandering of their own accord to that very same leg, the thick thigh taunting me, Joey’s hand idly rubbing it every so often like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
It's dark by the time we roll to a stop at the curb outside my house. I didn’t realize I would be getting back so late; Adam and I had planned on leaving the lake before lunch to avoid the weekend traffic, but clearly that didn’t happen. Now, here I am.
“Thanks for the ride.” I smile across at Joey as I unfasten my seatbelt, but I’m momentarily thrown off guard by just how handsome his face looks illuminated by the lights of the dash.
“No worries,” he says, his voice suddenly a low, rasped murmur that does something to me.
We stare at each other for a long moment which feels like hours but is likely no more than a few seconds before I blink hard and quickly turn away, removing myself from the situation and hopping out of the car.
Joey meets me at the back of the SUV, opening the hatch and pulling my case out for me. I take it, noticing the hint of electricity that sizzles between us when our hands brush. I think he notices too because his eyes seem to flare.
I say nothing, swallowing around the lump in my throat and turning. Taking my time, I wheel my case with me up the uneven path, fully aware of Joey’s presence following close behind me, up onto the porch. My heart is racing, my stomach is in knots and my hands are trembling so much that I fumble with mykeys before successfully unlocking the front door. Stepping inside the entry, I quickly flick on the lamp, a soft glow illuminating the space.
Joey is still there, stepping over the threshold and into my house uninvited, but I don’t look back at him. I can’t look back at him. Because if I do, if I see the look that I know is in his eyes right now, I know exactly what’s going to happen, and I don’t think I’m emotionally or mentally strong enough right now to ask him to leave like I know I probably should.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say again, my voice barely a whisper.
“Look at me, Prue.”
Closing my eyes, I take a shuddering breath at the feel of his big hand resting on my shoulder. I steel myself before I turn around and, sure enough, there’s that look; heat and desire, and maybe even a hint of hopelessness, like if I don’t give in to what he wants, he might very well fall apart.
I stare up at him, chewing on my bottom lip, my mind a flurry of all the reasons we shouldn’t. But then Joey takes a step forward, effectively closing the distance between us, and I’m forced to tilt my head back, my gaze dipping to his lips. And all those reasons why we shouldn’t fall to the wayside, my mind blissfully void of anything but just how close we are right now.
