Undignified
and
embarrassing.
"Hello wife."
"Hello yourself," Joan greeted back and walked towards the bed, sit beside the barely awake man and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. Then ruffled his hair fondly.
Matt sat up and groaned when the room tilted with his sudden move. Shit. "If I'm not too dizzy right now, I would complain about the kiss and the hair ruffling."
"You already did," Joan pointed out with a grin, "And you deserve every bit of room tilting, vomiting and everything that goes with a hung-over Mr. Price. You should have known better than to get drunk and bring home a Pamela Anderson clone."
"Have you seen her tits? How can anyone say no to those?"
"Rubber tits, however huge they were, are still
icky
," Joan replied with a snort, "The way she's pulling and twisting those nipples had been nightmarish to watch. It's like welcoming breast cancer in her life with open arms and neon-colored streamers to boot."
Matt throws her a look then burst out laughing. This in turn made her laugh.
"You are, without a doubt, a class act Jo. I haven't laughed that hard in days," Matt smilingly said, momentarily forgetting his hung-over to gaze fondly at the brunette by his side. Or the fact that it's been
months
since he last laughed. Technically, Joan Elizabeth Montgomery is his wife. Of ten years. They were married when she's eighteen and making a statement to her overprotective, ultra-wealthy family. While his been twenty-three then, another product of the ultra-rich, ultra-snob pretentious fuckers that are his parents. They both lived in Boston then, with lawyer fathers and socialite mothers. Not really friends because of the five-year gap and obvious difference in the world they evolved in. His the rebellious only son who dropped out of law school and the one that usually started gang fights and deadly car races while she's Harvard educated and completely wholesome.
Although they do know each other, it was during Joan's seventeenth birthday party that they connected. He was forced to attend it and hating that, decided to ditch the party after five minutes of polite talk to whoever his parents pulled him to talk to. Meaningless talk, however polite, is not his thing. Never will. So he went outside the Montgomery's palatial home, with every intention to leave when behind him Joan appeared. She was wearing jeans and a sweater. A drastic change from the peach, strapless gown she wore minutes ago.
"Are you leaving?"
Fuck. "Yes."
"Can I leave with you?"
"Why? It's your birthday party."
"I don't want it. I never can stand parties. And dressing up. And fake people who smiles at you but the moment your back is turned will laugh at your huge butt or whatever imperfections you have."
He had look at Joan hard that night, weighing the honesty of her words. And she looked back, straight up. And then he knew. She's real. So he straightened, shrugged then smirked at her. "Your not afraid of fast cars are you?"
"I am. But that won't stop me from leaving."
He had been impressed with her honesty. So much so that when they're both inside his black Porsche and he was about to start the car, he couldn't resist quipping, "There's nothing wrong with your butt you know."
From which Joan answered sheepishly, "Thanks. I guess."
Complete with an
ewwww
expression on her face.
He laughed hard then too. Just like right now. However fucked his life get, Joan somehow manages to make him smile. And laugh. And forget.
It had been a good decision to follow her here in Pinewood. The small town Joan settled in after they got married. It was light years apart from their respective families which gave her the chance to live a normal, peaceful life. While he in turn settled in New York and became a full-fledged race car driver. They continued to be married in name only at first until they both became so involved with their respective lives that divorce was forgotten.
