Page 27 of Back for Seconds

I handed her a fork, cocking a brow. “When I say complicated, I mean in a the body’s been cold for months, maybe even years, someone please call the fucking morgue kind of way. Not complicated in a this is super fresh and messy way.”

June let out a sardonic little chuffing noise that turned into another delighted little moan as her first bite of dessert passed between her lips. “Oh my god, Joseph. Joseph Anthony Pagano.”

I chewed at the corner of my lip, desperate to ignore the pressure her little coos and moans were creating in my abdomen. “My middle name isn’t Anthony.”

“What is it?”

“Raul.”

“Joseph Raul Pagano. This cake—” She made another pornographic face. I took a quick sip of wine to hide my expression. “This is vegan? It can’t be. You’re a fucking liar, Pagano.”

“It’s vegan, I swear.” I held up my hand. “I can send you the recipe. And don’t change the subject, Junebug. I wanna know—am I not allowed to date yet?”

She held up a finger, indicating that I needed to wait a moment while she took another bite, full lips dragging slowly over the length of her fork while her eyelids fluttered.

“Want me to leave the room? I can give you some privacy.”

After another sip of wine, she finally met my eyes. “Look, you don’t want to date me. Trust me.” Then she went back to constructing another perfect bite. She had this way of eating that was simultaneously adorable and maddening. She looked at every forkful of food before it passed through her lips; sometimes she’d frown right as she swallowed. What is it? I wanted to ask, over and over. What do you taste?

Everything about June seemed very precise, like there was a million-mile-a-minute analysis going on behind her big eyes, triangulating thousands of pieces of information in the time it took me to remember what day of the week it was.

I felt like I could spend the rest of my life figuring out how her brain worked.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re wrong before?” I asked, out of genuine curiosity and to get under her skin, rile her up, push her toward a reaction.

June smirked. “I feel like you’re constantly telling me I’m wrong.”

I pressed my palms into the countertop, leaning toward her, narrowing the space between us. Testing the boundaries of what she considered a platonic hang. I could smell her perfume this close; I wanted to collapse all the distance between us and bury my nose in her neck. “Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”

She pushed her lips out into a purse. “You saw my house. It’s a red flag.”

“If owning furniture was a barrier to dating, we’d have a lot less heterosexual couples.”

She turned her toffee-brown eyes up on me. They were swimming with a barely concealed pain. “You know, I used to have a really cute apartment. Before Brian. I lived in this sexy little studio in Georgetown after college, then later I moved to Asbury Park, and I had an amazing townhouse right off Main Street. When I met him, I tried to…” June lifted her hands and contracted her fingers, mashing the air into an invisible ball. “He wanted gray walls. A navy blue couch. Not too many plants. A simple Christmas tree. Natural fibers.”

It was a huge relief to learn that the sanatorium-gray color palette hadn’t been her choice. It didn’t really seem like her, like the June who within ten minutes of meeting me had picked, and won, a fight. I took a bite of mousse and cake, then asked: “What color did you want to paint the living room?”

She blew out a breath, ruffling the wispy layers of hair around her face. “Green, I think. A nice deep green. Or maybe even like…like a midnight blue. Natural colors. Colors that remind me of science and beauty. Not the gynecologist.”

“You know, gynecology is a science.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “A man would say that.”

“Alright.” I laughed, shaking my head. “So, you hated his taste…”

“But I was willing to make it work.”

I nodded. “My ex and I broke up in September, but we really had been living completely separate lives since July when I…when I bought this place. She was, uh, not willing to make it work.”

“I knew it.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m such a dick. I’m so sorry, that was an inside thought.”

“Everyone warned me.” I shrugged a shoulder and dragged my fork through my half of our dessert, my appetite almost entirely gone. “I think I did us both a favor.”

“You wanted to be left alone?”

“No. Never.” I said this so quickly, I actually startled myself. “I…I wanted to be madly in love. I wanted to be so obsessed with her that I couldn’t even think straight when she wasn’t around, that I missed her when she was one room over. I wanted to cry at the thought of proposing to her, holding our child, growing old. I wanted to feel something other than…” I widened my eyes. What had I felt with Amber? “Inadequacy.” Close enough.

June went extremely quiet.