Chapter 9
nine
Georgia
“Thick,” Maisy insists as I drag a liquid liner pen over her closed eyelid. “Thick, dark, and dramatic.”
“No talking,” I scold, holding her face still until I’ve drawn a perfect inky-black line, complete with a tiny upward flick at the outer edge. “There. You may speak.”
“Let me see. I need to look as hot as possible tonight,” she says, reaching for the magnified mirror on her desk.
“You already look hot.”
Maisy’s a natural beauty, with her brown curls, bow-shaped lips, and the kind of thick, arched brows I dream of.
“No, I want the Georgia look. Full glam. I don’t even want the football guys I tutor to recognize me.” She inspects herself in the mirror and smiles. “This is perfect. Keep working your magic, my friend.”
I pull out a contour stick and dot it under her cheekbones, her now-familiar orange-blossom perfume filling my nose.
I never understood the “getting ready” rituals girls talk about—never really partied or had a roommate I was friends with—but now I get it.
A tiny stab accompanies my newfound understanding; all of this is temporary.
“So a football party for your first date. This girl must be the one.”
Maisy raises an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”
“Maisy Hartnell wearing a full face of makeup and attending a jock party? You wouldn’t do that unless it was true love.”
“It’s either true love or a total mismatch.
I can’t say I’ve ever dated a girl who had any desire to party with a bunch of athletes.
But none of those girls lasted long, so maybe this one’ll be different.
” She sighs. “I can’t believe you want to come to this party.
No offense, my friend, but have you ever been to a college party before?
Because it’s not going to be a bunch of boys sipping tea and listening to classical music,” she teases.
“I’ve been to a college party before.” I stick my tongue out at her and dig through my makeup bag for a warm-toned lip liner. “And I only listen to classical when I’m alone.”
“I know, and I think it’s cute. I just didn’t think the football house was your scene.”
I take my time lining her cupid’s bow, choosing my next words carefully. “Your brother is very convincing.” Does my impartial tone give away nothing or everything? I can’t account for how talking to her about Cash makes me sick with excitement and worry.
“Ah, yes, Cash and his charm.” She rolls her eyes. “If you two end up best friends at the end of this whole house renovation thing, I’m gonna scream.”
I smile without thinking, sending the lip liner off track, and I quickly rub it away.
“We won’t.” In the second of silence that follows, I want to tell Maisy everything: the way his name alone makes me crave him, the way being around him fills me with so much longing that it’s exhausting.
I want to ask her what he’s doing to me and how, and most importantly, should I believe in these feelings? But I can’t say a word.
As soon as we walk into the football house, we’re greeted by a tall, dark-haired guy whose arms are covered in tattoos and who gives me a warm look like he already knows who I am.
“Lorenzo, this is Georgia,” Maisy tells him after they hug. “My old friend and new roommate.” She turns to me. “Georgia, Lorenzo. Cash’s teammate and best friend.”
“Don’t try to put that on me, that’s your burden,” Lorenzo jokes before turning his dark eyes on me. “Great to meet you, Georgia. Your reputation precedes you.”
I give a short laugh, my cheeks heating. “Uh-oh.”
“All good things,” he assures me and gestures toward the back of the house. “Drinks are in the kitchen and out back by the fire pit.”
“Thanks, hon.” Maisy takes my arm and steers me into the house, glancing back at Lorenzo before leaning close.
“I kissed him once. Amazing kisser. He’s the only reason I consider myself bisexual.
” The wide-eyed nod she gives me makes me chuckle.
“I’d tell you to go for it, but he’s practically married. ”
Good. While Lorenzo’s hot, I know beyond a doubt that even though nothing can ever happen between me and Cash, his friends aren’t options for me. The brutal swirl of nerves and anticipation that fires in my belly as we walk deeper into the house makes me think maybe no other man is.
I try to play it cool, but every time I glance at another guy and find it’s not Cash, my heart beats faster and my mind spins with possibilities about where he is and what he’s doing: watching me from some unseen corner of the room?
Laying his charm and that smoldering smile on some girl upstairs?
Changing in his bedroom, his undoubtedly ripped body shirtless right now?
God, am I even normal? I take a deep breath and blink the images away.
But Cash doesn’t appear. Not as Maisy introduces me to one after another of Cash’s friends and their girlfriends, not as his friend Reeve pours us drinks, and not as we settle into Adirondack chairs around the backyard fire pit next to Lorenzo, his girlfriend Ruby, and a handful of people whose names I’ve already forgotten.
“Georgia,” Ruby declares, pulling her chair closer to mine.
She’s wrapped in a puffy nylon blanket, and her long blond waves flow from underneath a black beanie.
“You have quite the influence on your roommate. Look at her! Baddie makeup and boozing around a fire pit with a bunch of jocks. What’s your secret, girl? ”
I chuckle. “I don’t know. Boring her so much she’s forced to try on a new persona just to change things up?”
Maisy looks indignant on my behalf. “What you call boring, I call a welcome change of pace after the unhinged roommates I’ve had…plus the unhinged brother and his unhinged friends.”
“And their unhinged girlfriends,” Ruby teases.
Maisy raises her beer to Ruby’s in cheers. “Life is all about balance.”
Even though it’s somewhere around freezing, it’s not bad for January. The fire is warm and hearty, and the guys have thrown a giant pile of blankets down on the bricks for anyone to grab for extra warmth. Best of all, it’s an escape from the crowd and noise inside.
As Ruby’s bubbly energy keeps the conversation flowing, it takes everything I have not to keep searching for Cash’s face among the people scattered around the yard and flowing out of the sliding glass door at the back of the house, but I don’t stop listening for his voice.
We’ve been here maybe twenty minutes when Maisy’s phone lights up in her lap.
She smiles as she reads the message on the screen.
“Willow’s here.” She grabs my arm, her expression half grimace, half grin.
“Well, go get her.”
“Are you okay here for a while? I promise I’ll come back for you soon.”
“I’m great. Go. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She hops up and takes off for the door without another word, and Ruby turns to me. “I need to grab a few more logs for the fire. Come with me? We can find you a warm drink in the kitchen.”
“I’m okay here,” I say, craving a few minutes of quiet. “Unless you need help with the logs?”
“Not at all, just want to make sure you’re good.
” She scans the faces nearby before leaning in.
“Truth is, a certain curly-haired someone made me swear to look out for you tonight.” My expression must give away everything because she smiles as she watches her words land.
“His protective side is pretty cute. Seems like Maisy’s not the only Hartnell you’ve had an effect on. ”
Vacillating between embarrassment and delight, all I can manage is “Oh.”
“Don’t worry.” She draws an imaginary zipper over her lips and hops up. “Okay, off to scare up some fuel for the fire.”
I sense him before I understand why. Without warning, his warm energy and comforting scent surround me, an exquisite buffer from the strangers at my side and the cold seeping into my skin.
Cash leans over the back of my chair, his big hands planted on the armrests on either side of me. “Sweet Georgia,” he says, his voice close and low enough that I know only we hear it.
My heart races as I tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes glow in the firelight, and even though I don’t know where he’s been for the last twenty minutes, his smile tells me he’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have.
“Hi,” I finally manage to say. “Where have you been?”
He leans down a few inches, curls falling over his face. “Getting ready for you.”
I swallow. It’s so out of line with his cocksure personality that I believe him.
“Now, come inside with me. I’ve been thinking about dancing with you all day.”
I freeze as he stands up straight and circles the chair to hold a hand out to me. “Oh. I don’t—I hate dancing.”
Cash gawks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “Nobody hates dancing.”
“No, I do.”
“When’s the last time you danced and hated it?”
I risk a glance around the fire, hoping nobody else is listening. “Okay, you’re right. I guess I mean I can’t dance. And I hate people watching me.”
For a rare moment, he looks uncertain. “I gotta say, I’ve never had a girl tell me no to dancing.
” He recovers quickly, scanning the people gathered around the fire with an expression that’s, dare I say, protective.
Then he holds his hand out to me again. “Come on, sweetheart. Come inside with me and let’s talk. ”
I hesitate because I know he’s going to try to talk me into dancing, but the idea of being at his side is too comforting.
His hand is rough and solid as he guides me inside.
It’s not the first time we’ve touched, though it is the first time we haven’t pretended it was an accident or hidden it.
The warmth of it sparks something inside me, and without warning, imaginings of what his hands are capable of replace my worries about dancing.