Page 111 of Make Me Laugh

Enzo looks remorseful for words he never said. “No, of course. No one wants you to do anything you don’t want, Jo.”

Mature men are so hot.

“Virality of this type only lasts so long before people get bored. We’re already seeing that a little bit. If we can keep the momentum up through the end of this tour, giving the world pieces of what they think they want to see, we’ll have a seamless transition into the new year with brand deals and hopefully a sold-out tour for next year too.” Our lives are already never going to be the same after all this—we might as well go out with a bang if we’re able.

Since being doxxed, I’ve taken three deals of my own for Hex. When the last contract pays out in February, I’ll have $80,000 sitting to the side. I could ride this out for a while, but I don’t want to do social media as a career. Not in this way, at least.

Hex becoming a job was never what I envisioned when I started her account. It was an escape, and I’d like to keep it that way.

I’ve added job hunting to my to-do list for this week.

Right up until Frankie needs to leave, we discuss logistics, agree that West and I split any brand deals we’re both involved in down the middle, and update our social media schedule to include filming time for me and West.

We all argue with her about taking a rideshare to the station by herself, but she eventually wins, reminding us it’s 10:30 in the morning, and hardly no one ever gets adult-napped at 10:30 a.m.

I walk her to the front porch, squeezing her tight when a blue car pulls up. “Call me as soon as you get home.”

“You know I will.” She squats down, rummaging through her bag for something. “Oh, and about this Hex and West Parker thing…”

I knew she wasn’t saying everything she wanted to around the boys. My reassuring words catch in my throat when she pulls out the sweater I wore last night.

Frankie stands, holding it out to me with a raised brow.

I couldn’t find it this morning after showering, hoping it was somewhere hidden inside West’s room. “Where was this?” I ask, failing miserably at concealing the tremor in my voice.

Frankie crosses her arms. “Outside West’s door when we got home from the bar.”

I do my best to come up with a compelling lie. “When I was leaving⁠—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, JoJo.” Frankie leans down to zip her bag closed.

I hold the sweater against my chest.

“It’s okay if it’s also a Joey and West thing.” She finishes her original thought and hugs me one more time before hopping down the steps.

I wave when the car pulls away from the curb, draping my sweater in the crook of my elbow.

A fall storm is rolling in later this afternoon with temperatures expected to plummet, bringing a nasty mix of rain and freezing conditions until sometime after midnight. The townhouse owner allowed us to extend another night, giving us the unusual opportunity to have a lazy day in.

I could really fucking use one after my long night with West…

People pass by, moving about their mornings. They have no idea what I’m going through, or how much my life has changed in less than a full month. The world goes on, and no one stops to see if the woman wearing a tank top on the porch in October is okay.

“Joey.” West’s voice pulls me from my daze. I turn my head to find him leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest, and brows knitted in the middle with a quiet worry written across his face. “It’s cold as fuck, you’re not wearing your sweater, and your hair’s damp. Get inside before you freeze.”

He always seems to show up at the perfect moment, yanking me from the edge of my despair.

A chill shoots down my spine. I blame the plunging temperature instead of admitting what it truly is. I cross my arms, hoping to cover up how hard my nipples are from the cooling metal of my piercings. “It’s not even that bad yet,” I lie.

He glances directly at my boobs, making me do the same. The sweater’s hiding my nipples. When I return my eyes to him, he’s stepped to the side, holding the front door open.

Before he closes it, West leans over my shoulder, whispering against my ear. “They’ve been hard all morning. It wasn’t the cold’s fault.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE ONE WITH THE WRONG PUCKING PLAYER

HexedHeroine: I heard you spooky lil freaks were looking for dark & smutty hockey romance recs?