Chapter 9 Georgia
If there was ever a day that I wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole, this would be it—hands down.
Why? Because somehow, someway, my grandmother—sweet little Nana, who baked cookies and whose worst habit to date was her bingo addiction had turned into my own personal fashion terrorist.
I stand in my bedroom holding the black dress I’d worn to Mrs. Pennington’s funeral last spring.
High neckline, long sleeves, hem to the ankles—perfection.
The kind of outfit that screamed don’t even think about touching me, Griffin.
You can’t, I’m untouchable. That’s the message I wanted to get across.
Nana does not agree. She eyes it like it has personally offended her.
“Good Lord, Georgie, you can’t wear that!
You do and you’ll look like you’re headin’ to mourn the Pope, not going out on a date with a man who can melt any woman’s bloomers, not to mention he got himself shot shielding you in your driveway.
He’s a hero and a walking wet dream. You cannot wear that.
I won’t let you!” she huffs, stomping her foot.
Where my Nana got all this energy and I don’t know, but selfishly I’m hoping it disappears before she kills me—or Griffin knocks me up.
“It’s not a date,” I remind her for the third time. “It’s dinner. It’s a dinner that I’m going to grudgingly but since I am, I need to discourage his interest.”
Nana doesn’t reply. Nope. She looks at me like I’m the crazy one, then she hums. That hum makes fear strike me deep in my heart. “Men like that don’t get discouraged, sweet pea. You could wear a burlap sack, and he’s still going to look at you like you’re Sunday dessert.”
I sigh, gathering my hair into a no-nonsense bun. “I think you’re totally wrong. So, this is my plan and I’m sticking to it.”
I could have just been talking to the moon outside my window, because Nana isn’t listening.
She’s too busy rummaging through my closet with the energy of a woman half her age and the mischief of a teenager sneaking out after curfew.
When she spins around—albeit while holding onto my closet door because she might have energy but she’s still old.
Sadly, she’s holding the tiniest red skirt I’d ever seen.
I swear it was no bigger than a napkin. I don’t even know where it came from!
As I stare at it, I think it might be the skirt my mother wore before she left me here with Nana and disappeared with husband number seven.
In fairness, it could have been eight or nine.
Since I haven’t heard from her since she left my fourteen-year-old self here, I ceased to care a while back.
“Absolutely not,” I practically whine. “That thing’s indecent.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she argues, waving it in the air. “You’ve got good legs, might as well use’em now.”
I fold my arms. “Nana, I’m not using anything.
I’m wearing something simple and appropriate.
If you won’t agree to the dress, I can wear my favorite skirt.
” I go to the closet, and she steps aside—albeit grudgingly.
It only takes me a minute to find what I want.
“This one!” I proclaim happily. I pull a long black skirt off a hanger and hold it up triumphantly.
“See? It’s pretty and best of all, conservative. ”
“I think the word you are looking for, Georgie, is antique. That thing looks older than I am,” she mutters while giving me a look that could curdle milk.
Before I can respond, she grabs the skirt, whips out her sewing scissors, and begins snipping away at my favorite skirt in the whole world.
I’m forced to just stand there and watch as sad little strips of fabric fall to the floor like raindrops into a mud puddle—useless and depressing.
“There,” she said, holding up what is now a mini skirt—just slightly longer than the red one she had. “Now it’s perfect!”
I stare at her in horror. “You cut it! You actually cut my favorite skirt!”
“Don’t fuss, Georgie. It’s just fabric,” she reasons.
“It’s ruined!” I snap.
“It’s improved!” she chirps happily, reaching into my dresser. “And you’re wearing this with it.”
She holds up a red satin camisole.
I nearly choke on the air I’m trying to drag into my lungs. “No way. Nana, that’s… that’s lingerie.”
“It’s classy!”
“It’s indecent,” I counter. “Heck, my boobs will fall out!”
Nana smirks. “Now you have the spirit!”
“Nana!”
“Oh, hush. I swear you are going to die an old, dried-up prune if you don’t loosen up.
” She lets out an annoyed breath and shakes her head at me.
“Fine. If you won’t wear that, then you’ll wear this,” she says while reaching into my closet once more.
I’m scared of what she’ll find. I’m expecting a sports bra or that see-through shirt I bought and wore so much the fabric is translucent.
I should throw it away, but I love that top.
I keep it as a reminder that if I ever find another one to buy thirty of them.
Instead, however, she pulls out my peach silk shirt, the one I wear to church sometimes.
I frown. It’s actually a good choice. The peach shirt is nice. It has a little V-neck collar, soft flutter sleeves, and it drapes nicely without showing too much. It makes my skin look a little sun-kissed, and it matches my peach nail polish perfectly.
“Fine,” I grumble, letting her win. “I’ll wear them both if you will stop encouraging Griffin.”
“I don’t need to encourage him. You got that boy hooked and hanging on the line. You just don’t realize it,” she laughs. I ignore her and the small feeling of joy that hits me at the thought of Griffin caring for me. He doesn’t. He just wants sex and that’s not who I am.
“Whatever. I’ll wear the clothes, are you happy now?”
“Ecstatic. Now go shave your legs and your hoo-hah,” she orders.
“Nana!”
“I’m not saying you have to get naked with him. I’m just saying do it. It will help you to feel confident. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I just want to survive the evening with my dignity intact,” I grumble.
“You will and hopefully not with your virginity intact.”
“Nana, please,” I beg, feeling as if I’m close to crying.
“Get going, Georgie. You don’t want to be late. I’ll lay everything out.”
I go purely out of self-preservation, my grandmother might be old, but she is sharp as a tack and I’m tired.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom with damp hair and a sinking feeling that I’ve lost complete control of my own life.
My outfit is laid out just as promised: the newly cropped black skirt, the peach blouse, black high heels, and a smug grandmother waiting to pounce.
I somehow get her out of the room. I take a minute to breathe and try to calm myself down.
It doesn’t really work. I didn’t shave my female area, but I did touch up my armpits and legs—although not above the knee.
That will be extra encouragement for not giving in to Griffin.
I have a feeling I’m going to need every reason I can grasp hold of not to give in to Griffin.
Next, I resentfully get dressed, tugging the skirt every few seconds to keep it from venturing further north.
When I finally walk out, Nana looks me over and frowns like I’ve just kicked her puppy.
“What?” I asked warily, looking down at my clothes.
“Your hair,” she mutters.
“My hair is fine,” I said, touching the bun. “It’s neat.”
“It’s boring.”
Before I could react, she’s reaching up and yanking the pins out. “Nana!” I yell. She ignores me, using her drawn, wrinkled fingers that are surprising nimble to sift and fluff my hair. Oh my God! Now I’ll have to redo it!”
The mean, little dictator that she is, ignores me. Instead, she steps back and smiles proudly. “No, you don’t. It’s perfect. Looks like you just rolled out of bed after tons of orgasms.”
“That’s exactly why I need to fix it!”
“Horse feathers, Georgie,” she reprimands, hands on her hips. “You look like perfection.”
Before I can protest again, a knock sounds at the door.
Nana’s eyes light up. “Oh! That must be Griffy.”
“I’ll go fix my hair—” I start, but she’s already heading down the hall.
“I forgot something, you answer the door!”
I freeze. “Nana!” She ignores me and it’s way too late. She already disappeared toward the bedrooms. Muttering a few choice words, I open the door.
Griffin is standing on the doorstep looking gorgeous.
He’s tall, broad, and complete trouble wrapped in a leather club vest, faded black tee and jeans that look like they were made for him.
His beautiful brown eyes do a slow, devastating sweep from my bare knees to my loose hair.
My body instantly feels like it is going to go up in flames.
Griffin doesn’t say a word. He just reaches out, grabs me by the waist, and slams his lips down on mine. Hard.
The kiss is searing, all-consuming, and so good that it should be illegal.
I mean, it makes the world fall away. His lips are hungrily moving against mine, his tongue is pillaging my mouth, dominating me.
There’s nothing but him—the taste of smoke and danger.
His strong hands are holding me at my hips, his fingers biting into my skin with bruising force—and I love every single minute of it.
I lose myself so completely that his power over me hits with a dizzying rush that make my knees completely useless and I give him my weight.
If he doesn’t hold me up, I’ll just fall to the floor.
There are no other choices. I can’t tell you how long the kiss goes.
I do know I wish it hadn’t ended, and my lips try to follow his when he pulls slightly away.
Eventually, I manage to pull air into my lungs so that I can talk, but I only manage one word.
“Wow.”
His grin is pure sin. “Georgie, you are gorgeous.” Then he leans close, his voice low enough to melt every bone in my body, and whispers something that makes my face go up in flames.
“I fucking love what you got going on, baby, but I am going to enjoy peeling it off of you and kissing every inch of skin that I uncover even more.”
I was still trying to remember how words are formed when Nana appeared, holding a plastic grocery bag.
“Here, Griffin,” she says cheerfully, handing it to him.
I blinked. “What’s that?”
“Just a few things you’ll need in the morning,” Nana says sweetly.
My jaw drops. “In the morning?”
Griffin laughs, the sound low and warm, and it makes something exciting unfurl in my stomach. “Nana, I think I love you.”
“Of course you do, dear. Now you two have fun. Mrs. Clancy’s coming over—we’re watchin’ Grey’s Anatomy re-runs and droolin’ over Dr. McDreamy.”
“Nana!” I protest, but she’s too busy shoving me out the door. If Griffin hadn’t caught me, I would have fallen.
“What’s in the bag?”
“A toothbrush. Clean underwear. That kind of thing,” she announces cheerfully. “Oh! I also packed some condoms just in case Griffin was running low. You two have fun! Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do,” she says and then slams the door shut in my face.
In. My. Face.
“I’m not taking underwear!” I shout so loud my neighbors can probably hear me. For his part Griffin is laughing his ass off. I look at him, completely mortified. “I am not sleeping with you.”
Griffin grins. “Okay,” he manages to get out around his laughing.
I squint at him. “You’re giving up that easily?”
“Sure. I actually agree with you.” He deadpans. “I don’t want to sleep with you either, Georgie.”
“Oh.” I frowned, feeling sick to my stomach. “Really?”
He leaned in, brushed his lips over my ear, and whispered, “No, Georgie. I don’t want you to sleep at all.”
“Well, that’s good,” I mumble, and even I know that I sound forlorn.
Has he changed his mind since this morning?
Of course he has. His men probably told him about the rumors the town has about me.
Heck most of them probably believe it. Now, he’s thinking I’m a freak and doesn’t want me at all.
Bitterness boils inside of me and I have to concentrate to force the bile—that is threatening to rise from the pit of my stomach—down.
“When I get you in my bed, I’m going to fuck you senseless.
Sleeping is the last thing I want,” he growls, nipping the lobe of my ear with his teeth.
I walk with him like a zombie, my face on fire.
He takes the bag Nana gave him and puts it in his saddlebags, before sitting down on his bike.
Then, he hands me a helmet. I stare at it until I realize he means for me to ride with him.
“I can’t climb on your bike. I’m in a skirt,” I explain like he’s dimwitted.
“I noticed. It’s hot as hell,” he replies, eyes glinting. “But it’s dark. No one will see anything long as you hold onto me tightly.”
“Griffin. I can’t. This skirt is way too short!
It didn’t used to be. It used to hang down to my ankles before my maniacal Nana got ahold of it with her scissors from hell.
Now, even Kim Kardashian would blush wearing this!
” I tell him this while I’m climbing on the damn bike because I have no brain cells.
Griffin laughs the entire time I do it, enjoying the fact that he and Nana have made me insane. “It’s not funny!” I snap.
“It’s hilarious,” he counters. “But that’s not why I’m laughing. I’m doing that because I’m happy.”
I glare at him. “What on earth could you possibly be that happy about?”
He looks back at me, eyes warm. “Because if your grandmother were younger, I’d be torn and wracking my brain as I try to figure out how to get both you and her to claim me as your man.
Thankfully, she’s not since I don’t think I’ve got the stamina to keep you both happy, so I’ll just stick to spoiling her and claiming you. ”
“You’re crazier than Nana,” I squeak in shock.
He lets out a dry chuckle, starts the bike, and over the roar of the engine yells, “Hang on.”
I wrap my arms around him, trying not to think about how solid he feels or how good he smells.
As the bike takes off, I find myself wondering if I’m going to survive the night with my heart intact—or if I’d already lost it to the man in front of me.
Then, I realize that even if I did—which I highly doubt—there’s no way I’ll be a virgin by morning.
I don’t have that much willpower. With that thought, I bang my head repeatedly against Griffin’s back.
I hear him laughing and I sigh, enjoying the sound.
I’m in so much trouble and no one is going to help me.
I don’t even want to help myself.