Page 41 of Back for Seconds

“Yeah, well—” Joey scrubbed at his forehead, halting his pacing and spinning on his heels to look at me. He’d been wearing out a hole in the sidewalk, and I hadn’t noticed.

His cheeks were red—they never did that. Maybe never was too strong of a word. I’d only known Joey a few days. Regardless, I’d never seen him look like this before. I tried to steady my breathing as I asked, “Is everything ok?”

“You find yourself in a lot of confrontations, you know that right? We’ve known each other for, like, three days, and I’ve seen you get into it with someone new every day.”

Now my cheeks were red. They had to be. The sudden impact of this confrontation hit me with a fresh wave of embarrassment, heat dancing up the sides of my neck with the quick, prickling sensation of scuttling spider legs. “Wait. You can’t be serious. That—” I shook my head, trying to organize my thoughts. Joey was supposed to be my ally. He was on my side. Ok, yeah, I’d run out of his house last night but—“That was fucking bananas, even for this town. You can’t possibly think this is my fault?”

“June.” Joey took a single step and, suddenly, he was in front of me, towering over me, fingers pressed together so hard they were turning white. He gazed down at me, over his tented fingers, like he was praying. Eyes clouded with worry, jaw tense and set. “June, please tell me you did not spray paint that guy’s fucking minivan last night. Please.”

Oooh.

Of course.

“Right,” I breathed. “Because you actually don’t know where I was last night.”

He widened his eyes at me, separating and then bringing his hands back together in a silent clap. I believe this was a nonverbal variation on the famous phrase: No doy, idiot.

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You don’t know where I was because I evaporated out of your house sometime after the gremlins were fed and then I…I never told you why.”

Humiliated, I’d spent the entire day working from bed, between fifteen-minute naps and quiet, angry tears that pooled in my eyes until they overflowed and ran down the sides of my face, into my ears. I’d shot him a quick text saying goodbye, but I couldn’t bring myself to do any more explaining. I made it through the day by taking each knee-buckling wave of anxiety as it came, allowing the familiar strangle of dread to flatten me back to my mattress.

I’d canceled all my calls, all my meetings. I’d skipped every meal. I’d even been too anxious for coffee.

“Even though,” I added quietly, “I really should have.”

Joey kept his gaze on me. His bottom lip was pushed out slightly, contemplatively. God, he looked so good. I wished we were back on his couch. I wish I’d never let that phone call ruin my night. I should have crawled over to him and laid against his side and let my phone keep ringing as I pressed my lips to his.

“You’re even good at being wrong,” Joey said, finally, quietly. Was that a joke? A peace offering?

“That’s because I’m wrong all the time about everything. That’s why I’m so insufferable once I finally am right about something.”

“Yeah?” He was fighting off a smile now—and losing pretty badly. “Give me some examples.”

“Seriously?” I laughed.

“Humor me, Junie.”

I huffed, taking a step closer to him. Just like in his kitchen, Joey responded by angling his body toward me, curving his broad shoulders downward, as if he was protecting me from a heavy wind. “Well, for one thing, I never married Clay Aiken. I did not become the first kid to graduate high school before they turned thirteen; it was just a phase, actually; I never lost that ten pounds, and I was not smart enough to be a physics major. Yes, actually, teaching did suck, and I was kinda bad at it, and I am much better at being a corporate cog. Oh! And my marriage did fall apart because he was a freak.”

“Alright, alright.” Joey laughed, resting his hands on my shoulders. Finally. It was like sinking into a hot bubble bath. Under his touch, my muscles relaxed instantly. “I get it. You’re wrong all the time—”

“All the time.”

He raised his brows, giving me an admonishing look. “But you should have texted me. I was worried I fucked up and you were pissed at me.” His finger migrated for a moment—so briefly—to graze the underside of my chin.

“Why…” I began, my voice soft. I paused to swallow, to try and force my voice out louder. “Why do you call me Junie?”

Joey shrugged. “I don’t know.” He ran his tongue over his top lip. “I just like it.”

Dear god. I pulled my eyes away before I melted into a pile at his feet, all over his crisp white sneakers. It took everything in me to yank myself out of his orbit, to step backward and put distance between our bodies. Joey responded to my movement immediately, dropping his hands from my shoulder, back to his sides.

“I’m really sorry for everything. And I’m so grateful for you, Joey. I promise…I promise if you let me tell you the entire story, you’ll understand why I left last night.”

“Hmmm.” His gaze swept over my features, down the road, and toward the ocean. I braced myself for rejection.

“Over junk food and a drive-in movie,” I added suddenly, trying not to sound desperate. It wasn’t just that I wanted to spend time with Joey—and not just because he settled the angry fuzzy feeling in my stomach and made me laugh until my abdominal muscles hurt and kissed me in a way that made every cell in my body burn bright and alive.

I also really did not want to be alone.