Page 2 of Back for Seconds

She handed me a napkin printed with a bunch of dead-eyed snowmen. “Bless you.”

Last night Mimi, my roommate, and I had gotten too drunk while watching our new favorite reality dating show—Love On A Rock—and then spent five hours almost pissing our pants while stitching ridiculous men posting thirst traps on TikTok. It was the first true, real night of fun I’d had in months.

Our opus had been duetting a man who went by JoeyDaVegan, an alleged vegan chef who made authentic Italian dishes with no animal products—yeah, right—while wearing little more than a loincloth and an apron.

He was an Adonis, of course. Because they always were.

Broad and chiseled with curly black hair long and loose around his face, JoeyDaVegan’s bare pecs poked out of, above, and around his apron. No fabric could contain his bronzed and oiled muscularity. Through my phone screen, his espresso brown eyes dared us to keep watching.

If only he’d just stopped there! Stared into the camera and given us a thumbs-up.

No, instead JoeyDaVegan began fondling his ingredients. Fingering his tofu. Stroking his carrots. At one point he licked salt off his fingers, then inserted his wet fingers directly into a bowl of hummus.

Our duet was nothing more than the two of us soundlessly laughing so hard, tequila dribbled out of Mimi’s mouth while a snot bubble pulsated in and out of my left nostril. We watched with glee as our silly little video pulled in thousands and thousands of views and comment after comment saying something like friendship goals, me and who?, and besties can I join?

Then we’d passed out on the couch.

A pathetic evening for two of South Jersey’s most promising bachelorettes.

“Alright!” Joanne called our attention to her by clanging her acrylic nails against the side of her wine glass. “Alright, ladies! Get your paper and pens ready, our silent auction begins shortly!”

“Silent auction?”

Mom nodded gravely. “After last year’s bloodbath, Joanne reformatted the entire operation. I brought a pen for you too, sweetie. Don’t look so bereft.”

Before I could thank my mother, our conversation was cut short by a sudden commotion on the other side of Joanne’s living room, near the front door. It didn’t take much to make a group of Jersey-born boomers squawk—maybe someone had just revealed a big, fat engagement ring or perhaps a spider had dared to run across the floor.

The sudden surge in volume was followed by a gust of frigid, briny air and the scuttling of many pairs of wedged sneakers across the hardwood floors.

“Bernie’s here!” Joanne announced, eyes wide, hands flapping. She raced past us toward her front door. “Bernie’s here!”

“Bernie…?”

“Bernardita Pagano.” Mom delivered the familiar name with a sigh. “I think she brought one of her large sons.”

“Her son? This is a girls-only evening.”

She rolled her eyes, curled her lip. “They love to bring along their big baby boys and parade them around like show ponies.”

“Ew.” I recoiled back into the couch. “I swear, you all have a breeding kink.”

“Don’t lump me in with them!”

“Hey.” I smirked, knocking my shoulder against hers. “Imagine if you brought Vin around.”

“Oh, heaven’s above.” My brother Vin was the eldest of the Alfiero siblings—and by far the best looking of us. Mom squared her shoulders, preening with pride at the thought, sitting just a little bit taller. “They’d gobble him up in three bites.”

“Let me see who his competition is,” I teased, getting to my feet. As I stood, I felt the fabric of my sweater dress snag on my thighs, bunching and clinging in an unflattering lump around my ass. I yanked at it, but the fabric just didn’t want to come loose. Damn static electricity.

“What the heck,” I grumbled, pinching the material away from my body then letting it snap back against me. Finally, when I felt like my ass was covered, I lifted my eyes, ready to see what hunk of local douchebag had inspired such a flash of activity.

Magically, the group of women had parted and quieted. Bernadita—a tiny wisp of a woman with light brown skin and big cat-eye glasses—was surrounded by her girlfriends. And there, at her shoulder, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand and a tray of cookies in the other, was a man that looked so familiar. So placeable…

Maybe I’d gone to high school with him? Maybe he worked at the coffee shop where I worked sometimes? No, he was too handsome. Too striking. Muscular and large and—

Suddenly, it hit me.

I was staring at JoeyDaVegan.