7. THE ONE WITH THE 2000S BABY
CHAPTER SEVEN
Comment: Wait, haven’t I seen a masked & tattooed bookish account on here somewhere?
Comment: You guys, leave them alone! If someone is masked there’s obviously a reason?
Joey doesn’t know this about me, but I’m wired like every other athlete, past or present, and there are very few things I love more than a challenge.
“Game on, Joey baby.” I wink at her, taking the last sip of my drink.
“There you are!” Frankie interrupts, tumbling in beside Joey and sprawling out across her lap.
I’m suddenly jealous of a tiny redhead with an Energizer Bunny’s amount of energy.
Joey uncrosses her legs and swats her sweaty best friend away. “Get your hot ass off me. I’m finally cooling down.”
Enzo struts in, as quiet and calm as ever. He leans against the wall casually. “I’m going to make sure Kell finds his way back to the hotel.” And what he means by that is, have a good night, don’t get arrested, and I’ll make sure our drunk pal gets back to the hotel alive.
I pop my fist against his as the bartenders yell over the crowd for Last Call.
The night is ending, but I can’t let it. Not for me.
Not for Joey.
Not yet.
“Want me to request a ride?” I hear Joey ask Frankie.
My night crumbles around me. I just started to crack into her shell.
“Actually,” Frankie draws, sitting up. Her face scrunches nervously. “Sam’s coming to get m—”
“Frankie!” Joey lobs a balled-up napkin at her.
“Listen, you should be proud of me.” She leans in, but because she’s pretty drunk, she still speaks loudly enough for me and Enzo to hear.
“I’m making a good girl choice tonight. I’m going home and going to sleep.
” She pulls away. “We know Sam’s not gonna touch me if I’m sticky with sweat.
” She rolls her eyes, and I almost do too—because what do you mean a man won’t touch his hot girlfriend when she’s sweaty?
Red flag.
“He’s just happy this makes him feel like he won this round.” Frankie pops up. “You go make bad girl choices. Sleep with the young, hot comedian you’ll never see again. I’d like my winnings in ones, please.”
“Jesus Christ, Frank! We didn’t even shake on it.” Joey stands to follow, her face turning a rosy shade of pink visible even against the club’s neon glow.
Shake on it? What did they bet on?
My mind spins from that to the image of Joey naked, my hand on her throat as she comes around my cock. In my daydream, she’s got perky pierced nipples and tattoos cascading down her torso. She shakes when she comes, and the way I imagine her moaning my name…
Fuck, West, stop it. I shift in my seat, willing my body to behave like a grown man and not a befuddled teen.
Frankie is gone before Joey has a chance to sneak around the awkward curve in the booth and go after her.
Enzo laughs, but me? I stare at how pretty Joey looks when she’s embarrassed. I imagine the warmth radiating off her cheeks if I reached out and touched her soft skin. Then that leads to the images I was having before, and that’s extremely dangerous territory…
“I’ll make sure she gets in the right car. What does Sam drive?” Enzo asks, reminding me to stop staring at this woman like she’s the eighth Wonder of The World.
Joey hesitates, studying Enzo through the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the color of a light moss under sunlight. Her face softens as she finally decides to trust Enzo and describes the color of Sam’s Honda Accord.
Enzo nods his goodbye, reminding me with a look to have fun, but not to do anything stupid.
I’ve never made that promise and don’t intend to start now.
When we’re alone, Joey looks at me out of the corner of her eyes. She doesn’t need to stare long to see my goofy-ass smile—the one that says I’ve won.
She might not want to want to, but she wants to fuck me.
Joey plops down and lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Joey baby, it’s okay. You’re so in luck.” I sit forward and put my empty cocktail glass on the table, leaning until I’m in her line of sight. “I happen to know a young, hot comedian who’d gladly give you a few orgasms if you wanted.”
Without missing a beat, Joey responds. “I have a running bet you don’t know where the clit’s at.”
I bite my lower lip and sit back. Knowing she’s talked about having sex with me adds new confidence I probably don’t need. “We can leave here now if you want.”
I watch every move her pretty face makes and can almost see the different emotions behind her insane eyes. “West, this has been—”
“Last call!” the bartenders yell again, interrupting Joey’s attempt to run away.
Just take a chance, I wish I could tell her through some kind of magic connection.
I stand up and offer her my hand, nodding towards the back exit where others are leaving.
Joey stares like I might bite—I’m not opposed if she’s into that. I wiggle my fingers in a nonthreatening way. She glances up and lets me help her from the booth. As expected, she lets go of my hand as quickly as possible but stays close as we exit into the cool September night.
The chatter of voices gathering outside isn’t enough to drown out the words Joey starts to say. “I should call—”
“Walk with me,” I interrupt. “My hotel is only a few blocks from here. I’ll call you a ride from there.
” It’s crowded outside the club with cabbies and ride shares fighting to find their riders and a place to park.
“It’ll give me time to say goodbye to the love of my life and save you the headache of dealing with that. ”
I’m kidding about the love of my life thing… But she can’t argue about the ride share part—it’s always a pain to leave the club when everyone’s drunk and clogging up the sidewalks and streets.
I hold my hands up, slowly walking backwards. “I promise Mama raised me to be the perfect gentleman… and this way we both know we’ve made it home safe. Cause you’ll let me know when you get back to Witch City, where you live.”
Witch City earns me another laugh. It fuels something inside me.
Fuck, am I Mike Wazowski?
Fueled by her laughter.
Joey takes a step forward, and inside I jump for joy. “What is this? Your senior trip? You need a chaperone to walk you back home?” she chides, the breeze blowing her hair behind her shoulders.
I stop in front of her. “I’m twenty-five, thank you very much.” She walks past, and I spin around, falling in line beside her. “Plus, I dropped out and went to clown college instead.”
“Twenty-five? A 2000s baby?” Joey stops, groaning as she leans against the railing. She stares out at the channel, the city lights mirroring against the water.
The sound of a plane taking off at Boston Logan International fills the easy silence before I prop my elbows against the metal railing, keeping my eyes on Joey, because I don’t care to look out at the dark water when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is beside me.
“It’s okay if you’re a couple years older. ”
“A couple?” she asks, cocking her head to look at me.
A couple. Ten. Twenty. I don’t care. “Yeah, you’re what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight, maybe?” She’s not much older than me.
Her lips curl into a smile like I’ve given her a compliment. “I’ll be thirty-two in November.”
I shake my head, getting a chuckle out of her joke. “No really, how old are you?”
“Thirty-one,” she deadpans.
I can’t help it. My jaw drops.
“You were flirting with women at least ten years older than me tonight.” Joey puts her hand on her hip, her firecracker attitude returning.
I’ll never flirt with someone seriously ever again. I’m sure of it.
“It’s not that I think you’re old! I just thought we’d be closer in age.
You must wear your SPF.” I love the eye roll she gives me.
“I’m not worried though… I love older women.
” I lean my head back, staring at the starless sky like I’m mesmerized by the nothingness.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always the cougars who get me in trouble. ”
She slaps me on the arm, drawing my attention back to where it belongs. On her. “You turd, I’m not a cougar!” It’s followed by what I think is my very first true laugh from her.
“Turd?” She laughs harder when I repeat it back to her with a light laugh of my own.
Fuck, that sound. It’s melodic and rich, echoing off the buildings and water.
I can’t help but step into her space and slowly cup her cheek. Her hand comes up to my wrist, and I think she might pull it away or slap me, but instead she presses her fingers into my pulse.
The rapid thudding of my heart jumps against her touch, and I trail my gaze up her tattooed arm, taking notes of every picture.
An opossum and a raccoon drinking martinis.
A rolling board with some kind of math equation.
This sleeve is made up of patch work, each tattoo a different story.
There’s no color, just shades of black and gray.
I have an assortment of dumb tattoos, but nothing as intricate as anything Joey has.
My eyes travel to the delicate ones faded into an old green-ish ink on her fingers, various shapes decorating her manicured hands. I’m a fucking goner when I meet her eyes. “I love the sound of your laugh.”
The flutter of her lashes catches my attention, the delicate freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks visible under the streetlight.
I swallow a gasp when Joey’s other hand rests on my hip.
“Tell me something else about you. What’s your story?
” I don’t want her to move. I want to stay in this moment forever, where I get to stare and watch the gears turn behind her eyes before she speaks.
She thinks too much. I just met her, and I can tell she overanalyzes everything.
“I’m just a hot comedian you’ll never see again.
No need to worry if you overshare.” I hate that those words might be true.
Joey shakes her head, almost nuzzling into my hand before pulling away.
“I’m just a girl with mommy and daddy issues who’s always wanted to prove everyone wrong…
but now that I’ve done that, my life, even with all my careful planning, has still kind of imploded.
” Her hand falls from my waist, and I begrudgingly let her put space between us.
I’ve never watched a woman struggle so badly with the decision to sleep with me. Is it something I want? Fucking, duh! But if it’s not something she comes to without my push, then I don’t. I need Joey to be the one to take the lead… For now, at least.
“Nothing in life can ever go exactly according to plan,” I tell her. Thinking about the life I was supposed to live compared to what I’m living now.
It was supposed to be the NHL rink, not a comedy stage.
The wind blows her long dark hair, throwing a piece of the blonde out of place. I follow her hand to her hair, taking note of the tattoos on her wrist as she runs it through the soft waves. Vines wrap around her forearm, traveling up to mix with the rest of the seamless design on this arm.
Fuck, I want to run my hands through her hair too. I want to hold it in my fist while she—
“Oh, come on. Mr. Perfect All-American here.” She waves her hands up and down the length of my body. “I know your story. I think everyone does.”
I don’t blame her for having a prejudiced opinion of me based on what the internet says. I’ve done nothing to combat the spoiled fuckboy image I’ve given myself.
They see a guy from a decent family with enough money not to struggle and think they’ve got me all figured out.
No one believes I’ve ever had to work hard for anything, that it was always easy…
What they don’t know is I’ve never fought harder for the only two things that have ever made me feel alive: hockey and comedy.
Lucky for me, I’ve got enough fight left to prove Joey wrong.