Page 67 of Make Me Laugh

Joey introduces us to Mara. She’s only an inch or two taller than Joey, bleach blonde, with a colored sleeve on her right arm, and a T-shirt she cut into a deep-V to show off her fake tits in a push up bra.

“Man, Jo, you really do have hot friends.” She eyes me and then shoots her gaze to Enzo and Kell, landing on Frankie with a playful gleam.

Frankie preens, loving the attention. “I told you, it’s never gonna happen. It’s tragic how straight I am, but if I were even a little bit gay, I’d marry Jo.”

Joey scrunches her adorable nose, freckles dotting the bridge. “You know you’re not my type.”

Gasping dramatically enough to prove her time in theater, Frankie throws a hand over her heart. “Josette Henrietta Daniels! Do you think I’m ugly?”

“Henrietta?” I blurt, unable to keep the shock to myself.

Joey crosses her arms. “That’s not my middle name.”

I cock my head. “What is your middle name?” I ask in the chaos of everything else going on around us. I’d wanted to know it days ago, and now’s my chance.

“She doesn’t have a middle name, so I make one up, because who doesn’t have a middle name?” Frankie asks, not expecting anyone to answer.

“Me,” Enzo chimes.

Frankie turns on her heels and gawks. “What?” She looks genuinely frazzled by this information. “What is wrong with you people? Why don’t you have middle names?”

“They’re useless. No one even uses their middle name.” Joey glances at me, looking for backup. She realizes quickly she’s not going to get it from me—not with this, at least.

“I mean, I use my middle name. Frankie does too…” I feel a slow smile creep across my face, Joey’s eyebrows lowering into a glower.

“Alright, you two. The sexual tension is making me H-O-T.” I glance to see Mara fanning herself. “But,” she stops abruptly. “I know Joey doesn’t like to share, so let’s get started so I don’t sulk.” She blows a kiss to Joey before rolling into the start of our tour with facts about this and facts about that.

I really was looking forward to learning more about the history of Salem, but my brain will never allow me to focus until I know how Mara knows that Joey doesn’t like to share. And what exactly does she mean by that?

I do my best not to seem antsy, but I can’t fight the pull my eyes have to her. They’re like magnets—drawn to her body.

Every once in a while I catch her glancing my way or staring when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention. When we’re at the third stop on the tour, she leans in and asks quietly, “are you feeling okay? You’ve missed like four opportunities for a sex joke.”

It’s because I haven’t been paying attention to a fucking word Mara’s saying. Not with every possible scenario of what she could have meant by, Joey doesn’t share, playing out with a full cast and crew inside my head.

I whisper back, using it as an excuse to take a half-step towards her. “I’m just taking in all the history, paying my respect to your ancestors.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s the last thing Mara said?” she asks, staring up at me with her big green eyes. Even if I had been listening to what Mara was saying, I wouldn’t remember a goddamn thing with Joey looking at me like she is.

“You’ve been running your mouth, so I don’t know, I missed it.” I shrug.

“West,” Joey scolds, swatting my arm. She gives me a look I’ve seen from probably a million people before. It’s the one that says, be serious, and can be used in so many different ways, for so many different reasons.

If I were cooler, I’d be able to play Mr. Mysterious, be chill and make her draw the question out of me… But I’m not cool, and I’m not chill—not when it comes to Joey.

We let our friends wander off ahead a bit before reluctantly following. “How does Mara know you don’t share?” I finally ask.

Her lips part, and she cocks her head. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about this whole time?”

With our friends far enough away, I break, unable to keep myself from touching her. I hook my finger through a belt loop, yanking her into my side before throwing an arm over her shoulder in what I hope looks casual.

Palm facing out, I fan my hand over the skyline. “I see so many options, varieties…” I glance at her when I pause. “Positions.” She elbows me in the side, and I hunch over, pretending to be in pain. “Did you wear one of your masks?” I cough out.

“West, I’m going to kill you in front of all these people.” Her cheeks are flushed, and her voice mimics an angry street-cat’s growl.

I fucking love it. I want to pick my stick back up and poke it again to see if it’ll bite.

Is that toxic of me? The thought makes me pause.