Chapter 11 Georgie
Georgie
In the past four weeks of living with James, I’ve learned a lot about him.
He’s a major homebody, only leaving the house to run the occasional errand or to attend professional obligations he has for Outlaw.
While James sleeps in the house, he spends hours each day in the big workshop he has in the backyard.
That’s where he works on his cars and keeps his drum kit.
Although I think the part of the workshop with the drums is soundproofed because I’ve tried my darnedest to listen to him play, but I can never hear a thing.
I can tell when he’s been playing the drums, though, because he returns to the house dripping with sweat rather than covered in grease.
Since we’ve been living at James’ house, James has stepped into the role of fake father and been a huge help.
He holds the baby, changes Weston’s diaper, rocks him to sleep, runs errands, buys groceries, gives him a bath, and watches Weston while I shower or prepare meals.
It’s been far more comfortable playing house with James than I anticipated.
While James doesn’t talk a lot, he’s always thoughtful and considerate.
He’s true to his word. If he tells me that he’ll do something, he always follows through.
He pays attention to the little things—like how I take my coffee or what television shows I enjoy watching.
Those small details, in combination with how he treats my son, are starting to add up to something big…
but I’m in denial, unable to fully admit to myself how much I enjoy being around James for fear of getting hurt again.
But the most important thing I’ve learned about James is that he’s absolutely nothing like my ex-boyfriend, Nolan.
James doesn’t thrive on conflict. He doesn’t insert criticisms into conversations, disguising them as jokes.
He doesn’t expect me to shower him with attention and then claim I’m smothering him.
James may not be like Nolan, but that doesn’t mean he won’t break my heart in some other way.
Daily, I’ve reminded myself that I swore off men, that men only bring me heartache and pain. But it isn’t working. James has a sneaky way of slithering through my defenses without even trying.
I tell myself that what I feel for him is only physical attraction, nothing more, but it’s a losing battle.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice James until he raps on the nursery door as I’m getting Weston dressed for bed after his bath. “Hey, Josh called.”
My hand stills on the zipper of Weston’s onesie. I raise my head to meet James’ gaze. “That’s good, right?”
Josh hasn’t been to the house at all in the past month, and outside of band practice, James hasn’t seen him. In fact, Josh is the only member of Outlaw who hasn’t come over for a visit. Even though James shrugs it off, I can tell Josh’s absence stings.
“Yeah, I think so,” James nods. “He invited me to join him for a drink tonight at Lucky’s Lounge. Alright with you if I go?”
I glance over at James and realize he’s freshly showered.
His damp hair is a few shades darker, and he’s tamed the normally tousled strands into submission.
He’s wearing his brown cowboy boots, dark denim jeans, and a brown button-down with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his famous forearms. Okay, I don’t really know if they’re famous, but they’re certainly infamous in my dirty thoughts.
Those muscled arms, with their prominent, winding veins and smattering of blond hair, deserve their own fan club.
James looks hot. And I hate it. I hate it because he’s leaving me to go out to a bar.
Fuck me. With that jealous thought, something inside me snaps, and my delusion of only having a physical attraction to James withers. I finally admit the truth to myself… I have developed a massive crush on fake husband.
With all my emotional safeguards in place, how did I let that happen?
“Of course, you should go,” I say, the words feeling like spikes to my heart as they roll off my tongue. “Get out of the house. Spend time with your brother. Have fun. You don’t need to be stuck here with me.”
Hesitant, James hovers in the doorway. “You sure? I mean, I can stay if you need me to.”
It’s nice of him to offer, but it’s insincere. He wouldn’t have gotten all dressed up if he had preferred to stay home.
I remind myself that our situation isn’t permanent. My place in James’ life is temporary. Weston and I will only be living with James for another three months.
So, I slap a smile on my face and wave him out the door.
Then, I spend the rest of the evening watching the clock, waiting for him to return.
With each hour that passes, the butterflies in my stomach transform into a churning, nauseating sense of dread.
What if James doesn’t come home tonight?
We’ve never spoken about dating or our sex lives, but he’s a red-blooded, virile man.
He must have needs. Needs that haven’t been met in the five weeks I’ve known him.
Damn, if he doesn’t come home, it will only reinforce that I’m just James’ fake wife. And that he isn’t as different from Nolan as I assumed.
Time to face facts, Georgie. As much as I’d like to pretend and fantasize that what we have together is real, it isn’t. The romantic feelings I harbor aren’t reciprocated. Unshed tears burn the back of my eyelids.
Between each of Weston’s nighttime feedings, I toss and turn in bed, waiting to hear the rumble of James’s vintage Porsche in the driveway.
My mind spins through one scenario after another—him getting wickedly drunk, flirting with a beautiful woman, going home with her, having hot sex, already planning when they’ll meet again.
I hate lying here in bed, awake when I should be sleeping.
Ruminating, one worry grows into another and then another.
What if James has fun tonight and rethinks his decision to let me and Weston stay with him?
If he tires of playing daddy to a baby who isn’t his…
I don’t know where I’ll go or how we’ll survive.
James never mentions the four-month time limit I placed upon our stay, but it’s an ever-present worry in the back of my mind, like a ticking time bomb counting down the days. I’ve had the rug pulled out from under me before, and as a direct result of that, I’m bracing for the worst.
Already a month has passed, and I’m no closer to moving out than I was the day we moved in.
Amped up with anxiety, I lie in bed, concentrating on slowing my breathing. Inhale for four seconds followed by a slow exhale. But as much as I need sleep, sleep doesn’t come.
Sometime after four in the morning, I confront reality.
James isn’t coming home to me… because he’s gone home with someone else.