Chapter 11
eleven
Cash
“Georgia Grace Grant,” I say, stroking Mr. Jangles’s cheek as early sunlight stretches through the living room window and turns a patch of her hair orange.
My arm’s falling asleep, pressed between the couch and her contented body too long, but moving will disturb her, so I ignore it.
“Cute, right? Her parents must have had a sense of humor to go triple G. Or they were weirdos…but I don’t know, I don’t see Georgia coming from a pair of weirdos, do you? She’s so cool and easygoing—”
“Are you talking to me or the cat?” Reeve, hair damp from his post-workout shower, leans forward in his chair until his face is in front of mine.
“Because you’re not pausing for responses, so I’m thinking this is a Cash-and-Jangles convo, and I should leave you to it.
” He gives Mr. Jangles a rub under the chin before sitting back.
“I’m talking to you, you’re just not offering anything interesting.”
“Stop to breathe here and there, and maybe I will. Man, you are gone for this girl.”
“No,” I say automatically and then realize he’s right and I don’t care who knows it. I am completely gone for Georgia.
“Right. That’s why you’re sitting here imagining how your last name’s gonna sound with her first.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff, then look at him. “It’d sound good, though, right?”
“What happened with you two Saturday night? Other than your dirty dancing performance.”
“Just an innocent kiss.”
He pretends to yawn.
“Hey, man, sorry you don’t have the skills to turn a beautiful girl’s world upside down with one kiss.
” It takes all my strength not to get into the details of what it was like to explore Georgia’s perfect mouth because I like to brag, and there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted to brag about more than a kiss from this girl, but I won’t do it.
What we have is between us and us alone.
Besides, I can’t explain the effect she has on me, the way the loud, boisterous energy that’s driven me through life simmers right down when she’s near.
Or how tasting her lips only intensified her magical effect.
When I’m with her, that moment right then and there is all I need.
Cam jogs down the stairs in sweats and a hoodie, pushing his wavy hair out of his eyes. “Morning. You two still keeping up the five a.m. workouts, huh?”
“I am,” Reeve boasts. “This fool and his cat have been lying on the couch since I came down at four thirty.”
Cam stretches out on our old beat-up chaise and glances between me and the TV. “Why are you smiling? This scene’s disturbing.”
I focus on the screen and realize a horror movie is playing. A pretty graphic one, at that. “Just thinking.”
“About?” He raises his eyebrows, smiling.
“I know what,” Reeve says with all the wisdom of an elder and all the cockiness of, well, Reeve.
Cam ignores him. “Come on, man. Let’s hear you say it.”
I’m supposed to play it cool, but I don’t want to.
This girl is mine. The whole world should know it.
Besides, Cam’s never been the type to give guys shit for being whipped, and Reeve doesn’t have a leg to stand on, given he turns into a puppy dog around Jade.
“Her. I’m not getting out of this thing with Georgia. ” The realization hits like a blitz.
“Well, no shit,” Cam says. “That’s been obvious since that night at the bar when you stared at her for an hour straight and tried to convince us you were checking on your sister.”
“No, I mean—before, I didn’t want out of it. Now I can’t get out.”
Reeve’s brows knit together, and he shoots an alarmed look at Cam. “Please tell me you’re not gonna be the first of us to become a father.”
“Nothing like that. It’s just…” What is there to say?
It’s either the most complicated feeling on earth or the simplest. Georgia’s sunk deep into me.
With every tiny piece of herself she shows me, I need more.
One kiss and now I understand why, for centuries, men have written poems, composed songs, and labored over paintings and sculptures of the women haunting their minds. Words aren’t—
“Just what?” Reeve prompts, yanking me back to the living room. But he’s sporting a grin like he knows the answer.
Meanwhile, Cam shakes his head at me. “Dude, you’re creeping me out. Why do you look so happy? This is the scene where the dog dies.” Still, there’s a hint of humor sparking beneath his scrutiny.
“Mind your business,” I say and pull Jangles closer.
“Hey, lovely.”
The corners of Georgia’s glossy lips curve.
I love how easy it is to get a genuine smile out of this girl, how the sweetness of it is like a warm glow that seeps right into me.
But there’s a shyness to her today that wasn’t there at the party.
I figured there might be. Georgia doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who ends every night making out with a new dude.
And even if I’m wrong about that, ours wasn’t just any other kiss.
“How you been?”
“Since when, Saturday night? Or since you last texted me six minutes ago?” she teases.
“Man, and I thought I was being subtle with my obsession.”
She breaks my gaze, stepping back to let me inside. “You still want to work on the windows today?”
“Got my gear. I also want to tackle that chandelier I fall harder in love with every time I walk in.” Toolbox in hand, I head over to the windows that face the back patio and survey what’s in store for me: probably a couple hours scraping the peeling brown paint off the wood and filling the cracks so I can seal and repaint later this week.
“This job might run into next week, to be honest. These windows have seen a lot of years. I could give it a rush job and it would be fine, but if we want to do it right, it’s gonna need time. ”
Georgia bites her lip, squinting at the windows. “Know what? A rush job is fine. Don’t put more time into them than necessary.”
“Really? I wasn’t complaining.”
“I know, but it’s not worth the extra effort. I’m just here to spruce things up and move on. That’s all.”
That’s all? It’s cute how she thinks I don’t know her. That I haven’t noticed the way she pores over paint samples or how she spent an hour flipping through the lighting catalog I brought over Saturday to find a new sconce for the dining room. “What are you gonna do back in New Jersey?”
She cocks her head like she’s confused by the question. “Work?”
“You have your dream job lined up?”
“No. Just applying and seeing what I can get.”
I expect her to change the subject—she’s told me almost nothing about New Jersey—but she holds my eye. Almost like she wants to be challenged.
“You must have really liked it there.”
She hikes her shoulders. “It’s the only place I have roots. I know my way around, I understand the people. Weather’s decent.”
Gratifying as it is to be right—there’s nothing there for her—I want to be wrong. I want her to have something back home that she misses with her whole heart. “You could stay and make a life here. Or you could rent this place out and go where I go. That’s something you could get.”
The smile that touches her lips is full of embarrassment and pleasure, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “A simple life is fine with me. I just want to be somewhere that feels like home.” She shifts her focus to the windows. “So, like I said, don’t put too much time into them.”
Good thing I love a challenge. “Leave it to me. I’ll get the job done right.”
“Thanks. Oh, before I forget…” At the little table by the front door, she picks up a keychain. “My house key. In case you ever need to pop in while I’m gone.”
Brushing over her soft skin, I take it, a gold key on a chain attached to a pair of purple dice. Warmth spreads in my chest even though I tell myself not to turn her gesture into something it’s not. “Purple’s your favorite color?”
Her eyebrows jump. “How can you tell?”
“Purple dice, purple top.” I limit myself to a glance at the sweater that’s making her breasts look incredible. “You always have that purple hair tie around your wrist.”
Her lashes flutter and her hand splays over her heart.
I think she’s pleased, though maybe what I’m reading is alarm as she realizes the man who’s obsessed with every detail of her now has possession of her house key.
“Guess I’m not subtle.” She turns to survey my supplies.
“So you’re all set here? I was going to look at paint samples in the kitchen.
” The floorboards creak as she steps back, ready to walk out, but I reach for her.
“Hold on.” I take her hand and pull her close enough I can catch her perfume. “You’re not going to keep me company? I don’t do well all by myself. I wasn’t even alone in the womb.”
“I’m working in the kitchen.” And before I can lean in to graze the lips that have had me in a chokehold, she smiles and pulls away.
Watching her walk off, I’m struck by an unusual feeling of self-doubt.
Maybe I came on too strong with all those texts about being obsessed with kissing her.
But what other choice did I have? I don’t hold back, and it’s served me well, except for certain girls misinterpreting and thinking they should adopt cats they’re not fit to care for.
I get down to work, strapping a mask to my face and scraping ancient paint flakes off the window trim.
It’s satisfying work, chipping away the old and revealing the sturdy wood beneath, knowing I’m doing this not for some random customer but for Georgia.
My hands are on the verge of cramping around the paint scraper when I decide to take a break.
“Georgia?” I call out, walking the main hallway. But she’s not in the kitchen or anywhere downstairs. Upstairs, I peer into each room before finding her digging through boxes in one of the dusty bedrooms. “There you are. I was starting to think you’d snuck out.”
“I’ve gotten lost in here a couple times myself. So many hallways and turns and random rooms.”
“It’s wild how it feels even bigger than it looks from the outside.”
“I know. This house would have been perfect for hide and seek.”