Page 141 of Make Me Laugh

He stops pacing at least, letting out a huff. “Not helping, Joey baby.”

I uncross my legs and stand, and even though they’re covered by my jeans, I can feel West’s gaze on them. I meet him in the middle of the room, my hands naturally reaching for him. They run up his forearms, up his biceps, and slow once they reach his shoulders. “You’re going to do fine,” I assure him.

The worry scrunching his brow softens, and he slips his thumb through a belt loop, tugging me against him.

So much has changed since our first night in Boston. I hadn’t known what I was going to get out of this, hadn’t even known what I wanted, but as I stare into the ocean eyes of a man I once thought was hollow as a fucking drum, I realize I got something I never expected.

I found myself. Not only did I do that, but I let someone else help me do it.

Somehow, without realizing what I was doing, I’d let West in. He weaseled past my air tight defenses and made himself at home in a place I don’t let people get anywhere near.

I can’t go back to the Jo I was before this. I can’t let the fear of never being good enough stand in the way of my own happiness anymore.

West’s touch makes warmth radiate through me, but along with it brings a sense of dread.

Slowly, I’m healing the forgotten pieces inside my heart, but I’m not ready for what West is looking for—what he thinks he’s looking for.

He’s twenty-five years old with an incredibly successful career ahead of him. I’m about to dive head first into a new company.

It wouldn’t work.

It won’t work.

It can’t work.

“What are you thinking about?” West asks quietly, his eyes scanning my face for an answer like he always does.

His question stops my spiral. “What a crazy two months this has been,” I reply with a softness I hadn’t expected.

West cups my cheek, and I nuzzle into it like I always do. “Joey, I need⁠—”

The door flies open, and a voice I recognize follows. “Surpri—oh!”

I take a quick step back, but West doesn’t move, only looks over my shoulder to who I already know is standing behind me. His face cracks into a smile, and he does a much better job at hiding his emotions than I do.

What was he about to say?

Fuck. Fuck… I think I know. No, I know I know.

I steal a peek over my shoulder. West’s mom is a tiny thing, at least five inches shorter than me with dark brown hair and deep chocolate eyes to match. She’s absolutely stunning, wearing a nice pair of jeans paired with an off-white sweater. Light makeup brightens her cheeks and darkens her lashes, and her thick hair is held back in a clip. West has her nose, but I think that’s where the resemblance ends.

“My god, sorry I should have knocked!” She stands at the door, one hand still on the knob, the other on her heart, while a man who gives me a glimpse into the future looms behind her.

“I told you,” West’s dad mumbles. His hair’s a couple shades lighter than his son’s, peppered with some gray, and besides his mom’s nose, West’s a spitting image of his dad. All sharp-jawed and dimpled.

She ignores her husband and crosses the room to West, instantly being pulled into a hug. “Hi, honey. Oh, you smell good.” Her voice is muffled against his chest. “She’s even prettier in person, West.” She thinks she’s whispering until West and I laugh at the same time.

West’s dad steps in, letting the door shut softly behind him. “Please excuse Melanie. You see where West gets it from?” He holds his hand out. “Ben. Nice to finally meet you.”

I shake his hand, giving him a smile I hope doesn’t show how truly uncomfortable I am right now. It feels like I’ve been put under a microscope because I know these two aren’t just looking at me like I’m their son’s social media guru.

I don’t have parents to care about what I’m posting on the internet. West does.

Somehow, I’d never stopped to wonder what they think about me being the one to push that on their son… But suddenly, it’s all I can think about.

Melanie pulls away from West, turning around to face me. “I don’t need my husband to apologize for me.” She glowers at Ben in a way I’ve done to West at least three hundred times this week. “I said what I said.”

I’m panicking, heart beating erratically. I try to rationalize with myself, to get my heart rate to come down, but no matter how many times I remind myself that West and I aren’t together and his parents don’t need to like me, I see the memory of Dylan’s mom meeting me for the first time—the utter look of disgust as she eyed my tattoos.