Page 7 of Back for Seconds

He took a moment to stare at the tips of his boots, wet with condensation from Joanne’s lawn. Then, blowing out a breath, he said, “You can’t make fun of me if I tell you.”

I held up a mittened hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“My ex-girlfriend liked your video. I know that sounds so stupid and immature, but…it fucking sucks to feel like someone I loved is laughing at me behind my back. And you know, people like my recipes. Not just my body. And no one has ever asked to drink my piss.”

“Ok.” I rolled my eyes. “Doubt it.”

“They do and I swear, they haven’t. And I bet you would love my food too. But you’re being so…so judgmental.”

Judgmental. That old chestnut. “Are you all on some forum together or something?”

“Uh.” He closed one eye. “What?”

“You and every other weenie-of-a-man in South Jersey, are you guys like in a group chat or something? Where you swap talking points and insults?” I twisted my face into a gnarly scowl, all my softness gone. “You can’t hurt me, Joey. There’s nothing you can say I haven’t heard before.”

“Whoa.” His features startled, then settled into a look of soft concern. “Whoa, I did not mean to hurt you—”

I held up my hands, beginning my retreat. “Not to blow your mind, but I’m also dealing with my own carload of steaming ex-induced bullshit, so I’m really all out of empathy.” I turned on my heel and started again in the direction of the island. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Where are you going?!”

“Home,” I yelled back. Then, under my breath: “Far away from you.”

I couldn’t have made it more than a few houses when I heard his footfall behind me.

“You’re seriously walking home?”

“No, I’m doing it ironically.”

“Let me drive you. You’re gonna freeze to death.”

I tightened my arm around my waist. “It’s not that cold.”

“June, I’m—” He was fully caught up to me now, his long-legged stride bringing him nearly to my side, his breathing barely disrupted. “Let me drive you.”

“How do I know you’re not going to kidnap me and force-feed me a bunch of chickpeas?”

“I’m sorry I said you’re judgmental. I don’t even know you.”

That slowed me down. He was apologizing to me? A man…apologizing…to me?

I pivoted on my heels. Joey was close behind me, but he immediately took a step backward when I turned to face him. The tip of his nose had gone pink with cold, his breath rushing forward in a white plume from his lips.

“You’re right, you don’t know me. And maybe I am judgmental, but don’t act like you aren’t too. I am absolutely sure you’ve been judging me this whole time.”

Joey held my gaze. “Where are you going with this?”

I wiggled my mittened hand in his direction. “You’re a personal trainer—I’m overweight. You’re a beautiful, chiseled influencer—I’m your literal troll. Your mom brought you to the ceramics party to trot you around like a blue-ribbon hog—and I’m there as the divorced loser everyone gets to gawk at then feel better about their own marriage. We weren’t born yesterday, were we?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You have no idea how I feel about your body.”

Had that truly been the only rebuttal he had? I threw my eyes up toward the night sky. “I don’t? Thirty-one years on earth haven’t taught me anything?”

“I’m not just another clown—”

“No, you’re special. Different.”

“Hey.” Joey held up his hands, but the fire in his eyes held me steady. I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I wanted to stay here, and I wanted to fight with him. I wanted to scream in his face, pound my fists into his enormous pecs, and I wanted to fall into his arms and sob until I fell asleep. I wanted to tell him how fucking unfair life was. My lips were trembling, maybe my hands too. Every part of me was alive with scarlet-red anger. Hangover, gone.