Beta credit and thanks go to Traveler158 on this chapter.
Chapter Text
"I ground against him in the creek, like properly ground against him if you know what I mean. I had my legs wrapped around his waist and everything," Joey said, her cheeks coloring at the memory.
"You what ?"
"It wasn't for that long. But I couldn't help it. He bit me and I sort of lost all semblance of control."
"He bit you?" Jen's voice raised an octave.
"Yeah. He was being a shark."
"What the hell kind of weird shit are you getting up to, Joey?"
"It's not like that. We were only doing it in the presence of Paceys' friend Will and his wife, you know, for the fake-rebound."
"Hold on. Let me get this straight. You ground against him while he bit you in front of his friend?"
"Jen! You're missing the point!" Joey cringed at herself, at the madness of it all.
"Honestly, I'm not sure if I want to get to the point."
Joey was laying on her stomach on the soft grass beside the creek, the backs of her bare legs browning in the morning sun.
Inside, the B&B guests were lavishing hollandaise on their eggs benedict. She'd opted instead for a cup of coffee, peace, and the catharsis of confessing your sins to a trusted confidant.
"The point is, you were right. Something might be happening."
Jen was exasperated. "Of course it is. I told you it would!"
"But it's only because Will and Jessica were there, surely? He was probably just playing the part, right?" Joey asked.
"You realize how stupid that question is, don't you?"
"No. It's not. He was just acting. That was what we signed up for. Pretend."
"Was he pretending to have an erection when you accosted him?"
"I think that part was real, but it's just biology, you know men."
"How real was it? Was it hugely real, or just sort of real?"
"Hugely."
Jen giggled. Joey did too.
"Do I need to book a flight down there? I could mash you two together like Barbie dolls until you both admit to feelings?"
"No flights, Lindley."
"Don't you want to see me?"
"Of course I do! But despite all evidence to the contrary, I've got this under control. It was a slip. It's over now. Done."
"Yeah, right. Do I have to change my prediction? That you won't only have sex, that you might fall in love?"
Joey buried her face in the grass. "No love," she mumbled, "just occasional, fleeting, lusty moments."
"I feel like I need that in writing."
Joey could hear her flicking pages in the background. Jen would be sitting at her desk overlooking downtown LA. The sky would be an endless blue. She'd be wearing her pastel pink power suit, or maybe the cream colored one? Her short bob would be straightened, resting just below her ears, glowing golden.
"I miss you so damn much," Joey said, a lump in her throat.
The pages stopped shuffling.
"My coffee tastes pretty shitty every morning without you there to drink it with. There is a new barista there who is useless. When Dan's working, he asks about you and it nearly makes me cry."
"Is that the Jennifer way of telling me you miss me, too?"
"Shuddup. You know how much I miss you and I want you to come back. But I also know that you need some space and time."
"All my things are arriving in the removal van at the storage unit today. I've got to meet them to sign it off." Joey said, sadly.
"Why don't you ask Bessie to come along? You shouldn't have to do that by yourself. It's a big moment. The last pieces of your life in LA."
"She's busy all morning."
"What about Pacey? Why don't you ask him?"
"I'm not going to have sex with him at the storage unit, Jen!" Joey laughed.
"Never say never,"
"Jennifer!" Joey warned.
"I know, I know. No pressure for quickies today, promise. He just sounds like someone who might be a good friend once you've called an end to this ridiculous charade."
"He is a friend."
"Well, as your best friend, I'm going to advise that you call him and ask for some company."
Joey ran blades of grass through her fingertips and spun onto her back.
"Okay."
"Love you, Potter."
"Love you too, Lindley."
After the phone conversation with Jen, she drove to Pacey's house. They'd left on awkward terms last night. A sudden avoidance of touch. The fake couple, who during the day couldn't keep hands to themselves, were suddenly unable to look each other in the eye. Side by side on the trip home, they remained in uncomfortable silence.
His car was in the driveway. She rapped on the front door.
It opened slowly, no more than six inches to prevent Cat Stevens from a daring prison break and a life of feline freedom.
He saw her and smiled. It eased the boulder of nerves in her stomach. An outstretched arm and a soft "Hey," invited her entry.
The living room actually looked like one. A beige couch with navy throw cushions she'd recommended while they were at the store replaced the camp chair. There were still no touches of home, no pictures on the wall. Pacey was a man in limbo, and there was the looming possibility that soon this house wouldn't be his.
Pacey was ruffled. His hair was pressed flat on one side, the other stood towards the heavens. The sight of him so disheveled awoke a flash of recall that she'd spent the better part of this morning convincing Jen didn't mean anything.
It didn't mean anything when he bit her oh so gently.
It didn't mean anything when he looked at her as though he might gobble her up whole.
It didn't mean anything when his hard cock rested warm against her core in the creek.
It didn't mean anything when she'd stepped into Jess and Will's marble shower and let fingers slip between her thighs.
It certainly didn't mean anything when she pretended those fingers were Pacey's and saw his face alone when her eyelids fluttered closed and the orgasm lit her body aflame.
Joey blinked the memories away, but a telltale blush lingered on her cheeks. "Did I wake you?" It was almost eleven.
"No. No. It's fine. I didn't sleep well."
"Are you wearing my pajamas?" She asked, considering his attire and desperate for something to break the tension. It was, in fact, the shirt he'd lent her on two occasions paired with gray sweatpants and bare feet.
He paused and looked down at himself, as if the clothes themselves were a surprise.
"I think you'll find that they are mine. Unless, of course, you have a long-lost love for Ice Hockey?"
"Ice Hockey? I thought Bruins were baseball? Or was it basketball?" She joked.
Pacey groaned at her comment.
"You washed those, right?" She teased with raised eyebrows.
He pulled at the hem and stared down at the logo. "Sure. I'm just going to run up and change."
Disappearing before she had a chance to reply, he returned with considerably neater hair, shorts and a t-shirt.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of a Potter drop-by today? Or did you just come to critique my sleep times and choice of nightwear?"
"I was actually coming to ask if you might have had some time to spare? I'm meeting a truck full of my west coast life at one. I could do with some company."
Pacey smiled. "Of course, in exchange, do you wanna help me medicate an angry kitty?"
She gritted her teeth, "Umm, sure. Can you guarantee my safety?"
"Absolutely not."
"You want to be the holder or the distributor?" Asked Pacey.
"Which of the jobs is less likely to cause my untimely demise?"
He tapped the stubble on his jaw in thought.
"The holder has to use brute strength and possible scratching may ensue."
"And the distributor?"
"The distributor must make eye contact with the beast, pry its jaws apart, and delve its fingers into the cavern to dispense the pills. All the while, Mr Stevens is reducing the interaction into his subconscious to replay while he plots his sweet sweet revenge."
"Wow. That's a difficult choice. I'll go with holder, not sure I want to be on the end with teeth."
He went to the laundry and appeared with a pair of elbow length gardening gloves. On them were pictures of gnomes and the tufted marks of previous scratches.
"You get protection," he handed them to Joey, and she slipped them on.
Pacey disappeared to seek out Cat, who, during discussions of his impending dosing, had scurried into a crack between the fridge and the wall. Pacey used the tip of a broom to usher the unwilling participant into his grasp. He then escorted the white puff into Joey's awaiting arms.
"You got a hold of him?"
Joey nodded, but wasn't entirely sure. She gripped Cat's rib cage while she shushed him and promised him Fancy Feast and kindness.
Pacey retrieved the drugs and counted out the two tablets in his palm.
With his other hand, he tried to prize apart clenched jaws and Cat Stevens swiveled his head as though he was possessed.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," Pacey said, making another attempt at the feline jaws and every effort not to look Joey in the eyes.
She concentrated on holding him still, his back legs flailing like he was swimming in an invisible sea.
"Don't be."
"No," he continued, struggling to hook a fingertip into Cat's mouth, "I didn't mean to, um, you know. The whole being in the water and pretending and, um, well, I didn't mean to, um, it was just that -"
"Pace, it's fine," Joey said, sliding a gloved hand up while Cat squirmed like an eel. She managed a grip that tilted his head upwards and Pacey was able to open his jaws. The second a gap appeared, he launched the tablets down Cat's gullet as far as he could push and then clamped his mouth closed again.
Cat thrashed and tried to pull his head back through Joey's arms in a desperate jailbreak, but she held him firm forcing him to swallow the pills. Co-wrangling a feline had put them firmly back into close proximity. The only thing separating them was gnome gloves, fifteen pounds of ragdoll, and at least two pounds of fur. Joey tried not to dwell on it, but Pacey's breath smelled of peppermint toothpaste and she licked her lips unwittingly.
"Is it really fine?" he asked. "I don't want to mess this up, or make it weird, or -"
"It's really fine," Joey said and wondered if he'd conveniently forgotten that she'd been just as complicit in the events of yesterday as he was, if not more so.
Pacey released his grip on Cat's mouth and when he didn't immediately retch the tablets up onto his counter, he smiled in victory.
"You can let him go."
Joey loosened her grasp and Cat Stevens shot like a bullet out of the room, his brush tail disappearing around the corner.
"Can't you just crush it up into his food?"
Pacey laughed and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. "I have attempted versions of this for years. Short answer, no. Cat is a spicy meatball, he will not do anything without a battle. But that went well today."
"How do you do it yourself?"
"With considerable difficulty."
She grinned, happy that they'd slipped back into casual comradery with a few stilted, half-apologies and zero talk about what exactly had transpired. A life of living with Dawson Leery had meant a life of zeroing in on what everything meant. Such a moment as they had yesterday could never have existed in his world without rigorous examination.
It was one of her favorite things about Pacey so far. He understood the subtle art of letting things just be.
He collected his wallet and flip-flops, sliding his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose.
"Ready to roll?"
Joey nodded.
Windows down in Pacey's car, she wondered if this heatwave had an end. Coming from LA, she'd hoped for some respite from the incessant sun, but it was yet to eventuate.
He hummed along with Michael Hutchence on the radio and pulled into the storage yard. A green truck with large white promises of 'hassle-free moving!' idled, its rear doors open and two men with back support braces carried Joey's office desk down the ramp.
Seeing her things stacked in storage unit 154 made her throat catch. Boxes of books that once filled the shelves to bursting in their living room. Paintings that she'd done after hikes with Jen at Runyon Canyon when she wanted to preserve the memory of the California hazy sunsets in acrylic. Clothes, shoes, photographs. All the objects that make up a life. A home.
Sniffing inadvertently, Joey wiped the corner of her eyes.
She grieved in stages. Bites of missing her life in LA, but also the life that she lost while in LA. The time she wasted there when she knew it wasn't right. Years she stayed with Dawson, hoping that maybe next week, it might get better. And then next week would roll around and he wouldn't have changed, and she wouldn't have changed. And eventually, the weeks turned to months, turned to years, until finally the culmination of their sad coexistence was over.
"I don't love you anymore, Dawson," she'd said. What she didn't say was, I don't think I ever did.
Pacey, sunglasses resting on his nose, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just feeling it all over again."
"I know you think that you're not brave, that you never took risks. But this right here, is bravery, Jo. Leaving. Starting again. I never even left my hometown. You're Joey 2.0, remember? You need to know that while this might be hard, one day you're going to look back and be so proud of yourself."
She let herself sink into his embrace, and he rested his chin on her head.
"Potter?" a gruff voice interrupted.
Joey followed the man to the truck, his jeans hanging below the line of his hips, exposing an inch of hairy ass crack. A waft emitted from his vicinity of stale cigarettes and parmesan cheese. He motioned to the numbered boxes labeled with fluorescent orange stickers announcing POTTER - CAPESIDE - MASS, wiped his nose on his arm hair and said, "You gotta check 'em and sign 'em off."
They waited until everything was unloaded before matching each item on the paper list to its corresponding box. She signed her name on the dotted line. It was all there, and mostly undamaged.
The truck pulled away and Joey and Pacey stood in the unit together, new keys hanging from her fingertips.
"You know what Joey 2.0 wants?" she asked.
"A pony?"
Joey shook her head, "Ice cream."
Pacey smiled. "There is nothing that cannot be solved with mint-chip ice cream. My treat."
The roller door thundered down and Joey locked the door on her old life and on Dawson Leery.
In the main street of Capeside, they battled ice creams that melted with vigor in the sun. Tongues lapped at the cones, stopping the drips from breaching their fingers. Pacey's t-shirt was not immune to the liquified dessert, and it left a green trail down his chest. No amount of dabbing with a napkin could undo the damage.
He glanced up and down the street, as if he was looking for their next adventure. His gaze stopped and his eyes lit up.
"What are you doing next Saturday?" he asked.
Joey didn't have to check her calendar. "I'm free. Why?"
"It's Jack and Doug's Bachelor party."
"Okay."
"Wanna come?"
"Do I not require a penis for that kind of affair?"
"It's your lucky day. No penis is necessary! It's co-ed. They didn't want their female friends to miss out on a party."
"Party? I thought it was chinos and cheese boards? And strippers, naturally."
Pacey laughed and his sunglasses slipped down his nose. "Cheese Boards are wishful thinking on their part. Anyway, I am the organizer, so what I say goes. The invitations are already out. The theme is Thrift Shop Prom, and if you're going to come, you need an outfit."
"But I'm not invited."
Pacey unlocked his phone, swiped with purpose, and Joey's phone chimed.
"Since you're such a stickler for rules, consider yourself officially invited." She opened the neon invitation which promised an open bar and appetizers at the Icehouse from 7pm.
He stood up and began walking towards the thrift shop with intent.
They pushed through the door, and a bell jingled. The store emitted the bouquet of mothballs, fabric and accumulated dust that permeated your sinus walls. Pacey made a beeline for a Panama hat from the stand and plopped it on Joey's head before selecting a checkered fedora for himself.
"Now, I already have my outfit. It's top secret and the kind of fabulousness befitting for the best man at his brother's gay wedding. As my date, you will need something equally stupendous, if not more."
He flicked coat hangers with gusto in the formalwear section. A rainbow of taffeta and cheap satin danced under his fingers.
Joey joined the search, finding a sequined mini skirt and a 80s wedding dress with sleeves like meringues.
She held it out in jest, "would this be too much?"
Pacey considered it. "I think it's worth trying on."
"You're kidding?"
"No! This is exactly what I meant by Thrift Shop Prom. Get something crazy, get something ridiculous!"
"I can't wear a wedding dress to their bachelor party, Pace. What are they wearing?"
"They have no clue. Everything is a surprise. They know the time and the place of the festivities only. I've got outfits ready for them."
"Poor Doug and Jack."
"Have faith, Potter. As you well know, my style knows no bounds."
He loaded an armful of dresses into her arms and Joey was about to make her way to the change rooms when she stopped. The mannequin in the window was wearing her dress, the one she simply must have for the party.
She dumped the clothes back on Pacey and walked over to it.
"I can't try on those, Pace, because that ," she pointed, "is the only dress I want for this occasion."
It was resplendent in the sunlight, flamingo pink base with palm fronds and pineapple motifs. Spaghetti straps began the journey of a heart shaped neckline, leading into a fitted midline before exploding in a cascade of gaudy ruffles all the way to the floor like a flamenco dancer's skirts.
"Is that what I think it is?" Pacey asked.
Joey nodded.
It was, in no uncertain terms, the formal dress incarnation of a Hawaiian shirt.
The store attendant, an octogenarian with a purple halo of permed hair, didn't want them disturbing the display, so she manhandled the dress off the mannequin and pointed Joey in the direction of the change rooms.
Pacey perched himself on a shag footstool and waited.
Pulling her denim shorts down, Joey said, "if this doesn't fit, I'm going to cry."
But it fit perfectly. No alterations required.
Swooping open the curtain, Joey stepped out and did a twirl, the skirts billowed and swayed. She took her hair in her hands, pulling it off her neck, twisting it into a makeshift knot.
Pacey's eyes scanned the length of the dress, where it hugged tightly at her waist and ended with the merest scrap of material on her bare shoulders.
"It's beautiful," he said, resting soft green irises on her face.
Joey drew in her bottom lip and turned away from him, looking in the mirror. His gaze crossed the space between them and devoured her whole, but he stayed rooted in place. Blood carbonated in her veins, bubbles rising through her skin at his attention.
The dress wasn't beautiful. It was garish and ridiculous, but in it she felt beautiful. His reflection in the mirror told her so.
"It's not too much?"
He shook his head. "When you see my outfit, you will understand that it's just right."
She changed and Pacey insisted on paying for the dress. Eight whole dollars.
He hung his fedora back on the rack and they walked out onto the street, the plastic bag with her dress swinging in Joey's hands.
"Did you go to your prom?" she asked.
"I did," he said with a reserved smile.
"And?"
"Did Will and the others not regale you with the tale which was my senior prom?"
"No."
"I'm surprised. It was, as some might say, classic Pacey. Show up late with the wrong corsage, drink so much spiked punch they evict me from the premises before they could call king and queen, get into a fight with a security guard, broken fingers, blood, tears. You know, the usual."
She shook her head and teased, "Actually, that rings a bell."
"What about you? Did Dawson take you to prom? Did you dance under twinkly lights, drink unspiked punch and get delivered home before the coach turned back into a pumpkin?"
Joey scrunched up her face. She didn't really want to answer. But as she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed that Pacey had stopped just a few paces behind her. He was looking at something further up the street, his eyes wary and body stiff, radiating waves of indignation.
"Pace? What is it?"
Following his gaze, her eyes came to a blonde woman. She had a short bob and a pastel pink sundress. The woman's walk was slowing, but she was still coming towards them as though she were being dragged by a rope.
Joey felt panic rising. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. There was no doubt in her mind, she didn't need to ask. The woman approaching was Andie.
"Hey," Andie said, voice filled with trepidation.
Pacey's hands were deep in his pockets, his demeanor like ice. "Hey."
The three of them stood on the sidewalk together in suspended animation. Shoppers passed in steady currents, parting and rejoining around the trio. Joey waited for someone to speak first. Anyone. She just didn't want it to be her.
Andie broke the standoff, "You must be Joey?" she held out her hand and Joey took it in a soft shake.
"Sorry Joey, this is Andie. Andie, Joey," Pacey found his voice and his arm found Joey's lower back.
"I heard about you from Jack and Doug," Andie said, then added with a nervous giggle, "All good things, I assure you."
A smile was plastered on Andie's face, immovable. Like a cutout from a magazine had been stapled where smiles were supposed to be. But her eyes told the truth when they traveled to Pacey's arm on Joey's lower back.
On instinct, Joey moved infinitesimally closer to Pacey, giving him permission, if he needed, to use her for support, for touch, for whatever he wanted. As if hearing her, his arm dropped and collected Joey's hand in his own.
"Are you coming to the Bachelor party?" Pacey asked. "I didn't get your RSVP."
Andie shook her head vehemently. "No. I have a conference in Phoenix and I told Jack and Doug I would be back in time for the wedding. You know what it's like with work. I need to get special permission to get out of the conference. I'm presenting there, you see, and -" Andie continued to babble nervously, filling the awkward space between them with random collections of words.
Pacey squeezed Joey's hand. She held his even tighter.
Andie's hair glistened in the sun, perfectly straightened, moving around her face in a singular unit while she spoke. She was beautiful. Petite in ways that Joey and her tall frame could never be. Alabaster skin beneath her dress looked as though it had never seen the sun's rays.
Joey held Pacey's hand and imagined him nuzzling Andie's neck, making her pancakes in the morning and kissing her with maple syrup breath. She imagined Andie rubbing her cheeks along the softness of his beard, and then choosing to leave him, to cheat on him. The babbling woman had obliterated his heart.
Joey saw red.
She cut Andie off with saccharine sweetness and lies. "It's been so nice to put a face to the name," Joey said. "But Pacey and I were about to make the most of this stunning weather and take the sailboat out to Ryder's Cove for sunset."
Without acknowledgement of Joey's statement, she held Pacey's eyes instead. "I'm so glad you're getting time to go sailing, Pacey."
Not once in her marriage did she ever feel rage, or jealousy, or anything, really. She floated, as though she was in a boat with no control of the destination. Dawson was the ocean, and she ebbed and flowed with his tides alone. Now she felt it all swirling around her chest cavity, overwhelming her.
Joey yearned to yell at her, to scream, to list all the ways she broke his heart, but the words sat on her tongue like their ice creams, melting. Instead, she squeezed Pacey's hand so tightly that when she looked down, the tips of his fingers were white.
Andie's words to Pacey hung suspended in the air and ignored.
"How's Leo?" He asked instead, ever the masochist.
She sighed, "He's okay."
"Excellent," sarcasm dripped from his mouth.
"Pacey we don't have to do this," said Andie.
"You're right. We don't. Goodbye Andie," he said. In an instant her counterfeit smile vanished and Joey knew that it wasn't over for her. She still loved Pacey.
Tugging at Joey's hand, he spun them in the opposite direction, away from his car, away from his ex. They walked silently until they turned left into a laneway and stopped.
Even though Andie was long gone, he didn't release his grip.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He stared at their intertwined fingers. "I don't know."
Joey crushed her chest into his mint-chip stain beside the dumpsters and held him in a hug. His muscular arms slid around her as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. The overwhelming barrage of emotions had left her worn. But as she held her friend in a hug of comfort, she admitted to herself in that alleyway that she could pretend all she wanted, there was nothing fake in the way she felt about him.