Chapter Two – Georgia
I had to change before we headed out to The Outpost where Emerson performs on the weekends. If you’ve ever worked in education, then you understand that no matter the age group, you always come home feeling like you’re covered in germs and boogers.
Teaching has slowly become my entire life—my entire personality.
My entire wardrobe.
My only saving grace is that The Outpost is a smaller bar, and I don’t think anyone will notice that I’m wearing a black science t-shirt that says you matter next to a bubbling beaker and some overalls that definitely cover the words.
It's fine.
It’s better than being in bed by eight, which happens to be in thirty minutes. At least I’m out.
“You could walk a little faster!”
I smile, following Emerson down the busy sidewalk. It isn’t dark yet, but by the time we leave, I will be able to check nocturnal partier off my bucket list. “Sorry,” I say, catching up to her quickly. “You could be a bit nicer. I am mourning a very important loss right now.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Don’t worry, Jesus, you’ll have your friend alive and breathing in no time.”
I laugh as she drags me closer to the bar. The wooden sign sticks out from the brick building on the strip and highlights our destination—Emerson’s pride and joy. The sign used to hang crooked, but someone decided that was probably bad for business and fixed it.
I can’t say I don’t agree.
“Hey!” Emerson bursts forward, releasing my hand and wrapping her arms around a much taller, brown-haired, athletically built, perfectly and infuriatingly created, Sawyer.
If I had any ounce of joy on my face before, it’s gone now.
“Sorry we’re late,” she continues, pulling back from his embrace. Something about the thought of being embraced by a literal asshole has me wanting to vomit. It would be much nicer if his face looked like an actual rectum. Maybe his insults wouldn’t hurt so badly.
I chuckle at my own thoughts as Emerson continues. “Georgia was trying to resurrect a dead plant, and you know how that goes.”
“Shouldn’t an Environmental Science teacher be able to keep a plant alive?” His deep voice grates on me, and when his brown eyes turn to look at me, I instantly want to punch him in the face.
It’s been less than a minute.
Good thing Emerson can be very forgiving.
This is going to be fun.
Sawyer’s eyes rake down my body, taking in the gray canvas slip-on sneakers, my denim overalls, and my t-shirt he obviously can’t read.
A pity, really. Since it’s hilarious.
When the smile cracks across his face, he folds tan arms over his well-built chest. I want to gag. “You know.” I roll my eyes prematurely, but he doesn’t take the hint. “Wearing farmer-style overalls won’t fix your plant. You can’t aesthetic your way into having a green thumb.”
Okay, rude.
I deadpan. “We’re leaving.”
Emerson grabs my arm, and I’m pretty sure all five-foot-two of her could break it and leave me bleeding on this sidewalk.
“She’s joking,” Emerson says, offering a wide smile to her brother.
I look back at him and his plain black t-shirt.
How boring. “She’s really not,” I say. While I am not joking, I’m definitely not leaving.
For one, this means too much to Emerson, and for two, if I can survive sixteen-year-olds bullying me all day and still want to teach, one night with this man won’t break me.
I think Emerson might be doubting my commitment, though, since she’s glaring at me. Nope. No, she just wants me to behave.
Gladly.
I offer Sawyer an even wider smile, one that makes his smile look amateurish. “I’ll stay,” I say, tilting my head to the side and daring him to say something else.
He raises a brow at me. “Great.”
“Great.”
“Anyway!” Emerson chimes in. You guys will have time to eat during my sound check, but if I want something for dinner, we better go in now.”
“Lovely,” I say, with too much enthusiasm.
Sawyer and I are locked in the staring contest of the century. I’m just waiting for the next dig, the next thing that will have me imagining my hands around his throat and squeezing—hard.
God, I really am a murderer.
Jesus, forgive me.
“Fantastic,” Sawyer says, satisfied. “I’m starved.”
“I’m not,” I say, offering a smug smile. Pushing past him, I open the glass door at the bar’s entrance and toss my next statement over my shoulder. “I already had a PB and J.”
The bar is mostly empty, but that won’t last long.
Emerson is good, really good. I spent our entire freshman year listening to her play her keyboard and sing her little heart out.
Most roommates would be annoyed, but I liked it.
It filled our shitty dorm room with life—joy.
And now that she gets to play on stage every Friday and Saturday, I get to see that same joy over and over.
Well, not a lot recently, but that’s why I’m not leaving.
I hear shoes tapping the wooden floor behind me, and then I feel someone grip my arm. I whirl, horrified to see Sawyer smiling down at me. He looks like a feral cat, ready to attack any second.
“A PB and J?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s making fun of me.
The touch from his hand still wrapped around my bicep literally burns.
It’s scalding hot—like the fiery pits of hell.
“Really, Georgia,” he continues, refusing to remove his torture grip.
“I can make you something better than that.”
“Unnecessary,” I say, shrugging out of his hold and shaking off my disgust. I look up at him, smiling again because I know how to play nice. “You may be some fancy sous chef, or whatever, but I happened to enjoy my dinner.”
“Did it highlight the very peak of your cooking talents?” His tongue rolls along his cheek, brown eyes lighted with amusement.
I smile wider. “Well, you know what they say,” I begin, my tone dripping poison. “Those who can’t—”
“Teach,” he finishes with me.
He’s still smiling and standing far too close as he towers over me.
Whatever height genetics Emerson inherited; Sawyer did not inherit the same.
I’m five-seven, and he still dwarfs me. I do, however, like to think he still lies on whatever dating app he uses.
He’s probably six-two. I hope he says six-four, and his lies lead to girls walking out on every first date. I hope he’s lonely—miserable even.
“You remembered,” he says, almost flattered.
“How could I forget?” I respond. My eyes flick to Emerson, who is talking to the owner closer to the entrance. She nods our way as if she’s informing him about us, probably explaining that we are with her and not to kick us out. How unfortunate.
Looking back at Sawyer, I finish my statement. “Especially since you weren’t the one to invent the saying. Rude and unoriginal.”
He huffs a stale laugh before Emerson is in front of us again.
“I have fifteen minutes to eat, and then we are doing the sound check,” she says. “I got a wrap since it’ll be out faster. You guys, however, can order whatever you want.”
Emerson grabs my hand and drags me over to the booth in the corner, Sawyer following at our heels.
I can tell she’s excited, and it’s nice to see her so passionate about something.
I smile, trying to soak in her positivity and willing it to take away any murderous thoughts that may have leaked into my mind.
It wouldn’t be kind to kill her brother at her show. That would make me a terrible friend, and I am not about to be a terrible friend.
I glance back at Sawyer, tossing him a genuine smile—one that says, your sister deserves all the happiness in the world.
When we sit down, I order an avocado bacon club and a side of sweet potato fries. And despite my unwillingness to admit defeat, I have to say that in the back of my mind; I know the truth about the sandwich. It is sure as shit way better than the sad toddler meal I made for myself earlier.