Chapter 11 #3
The little moan she releases, like she’s too weak to talk, only deepens her effect. Her hand presses against my chest, and as soon as I feel her touch, I’m desperate for more. I cover her hand and guide it down to my crotch, making her cup my erection.
“Feel how hard I am for you, Georgia.”
She sucks in a breath, squeezing my cock with hunger, but immediately pulls back like she’s been shocked.
Ripping her mouth from mine, she pushes away, crawling through the small doorway and spilling out into the room.
“We can’t,” she says breathlessly, swiping her hand over her lips. “We can’t do that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath to get a hold of myself, then follow her.
Shoulders drawn up, she stands stock-still with her fingers covering her lips like they’ve been burned.
Frustration curdles into anger at the sight of her, this perfect girl who wants me almost as much as I want her, yet I can’t have her.
“Yes we can.”
She whips her head from side to side. “Maisy’s my only friend. I can’t hurt her like this.”
Impatience battles with my fierce desire to know this girl. “Help me understand. If Maisy’s your only friend in the world, what is it you’re rushing back to the East Coast for?”
“What do you mean? It’s home.”
“What’s home? What’s there for you?”
She swallows like she doesn’t enjoy the taste of the question, but she doesn’t fight it.
“It’s the town I know best. It’s a coffee shop where the owner knows my name and makes perfect lattes.
It’s a cute venue with classical music performances every year.
It’s a spice shop that holds cooking classes.
” A formality comes over her as she straightens up, pushing her shoulders back. “What does this have to do with—”
“It’s places, not people.” That’s all she has.
“So what?”
“I just want to understand you.”
At that, she turns away from me. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m just not doing this to Maisy.” A hint of fire sparks in her voice, a warning. Maybe Georgia’s not always as even-tempered as she appears. But instead of heeding the warning, that voice makes me want more.
“We’ve already done it. You want to act like it never happened? Because I don’t.”
Whipping back around, she says, “Actually, yes, that’s probably for the best. We’re better off forgetting this ever happened.” She casts a contemptuous look at the little closet like it betrayed her. “Forgetting we ever kissed.”
Unable to stand the distance between us, I move closer to her. “Wrong. We’re not better off. I know I’m not. I don’t want to go back to being whoever I was before I kissed you.”
Her shoulders sag, the anger disappearing as suddenly as it came. “Cash.”
It’s the first time she’s said my name in…all day, maybe? And that pisses me off. Because how many dozens—no, hundreds—of times have I said her name out loud and in my head in the days since I saw her at the bar that first night? Too many. Georgia is all I can think about.
I wait for her to say something else and tell me never mind, to forget everything she just said because this is too right, but after a crackling silence, she shakes her head.
Swallowing the words fighting to break free, I nod. “Fine,” I clip out. “I’m gonna get back to work.” Without waiting for her reply, I move past her. Downstairs, the skeletal, paint-stripped windows look out into the barren yard and a day that’s turned gray and still.
I pick up the paint scraper and then, from the corner of my eye, catch motion by the hall. Georgia stands in the doorway.
“Are you mad?” she murmurs.
I keep my focus on my work. “Yes.”
“Cash, I’m sorry. It’s not like I don’t want this—”
“I know you want this, that’s why I’m mad. And stop apologizing. It’s not you I’m mad at.”
“At Maisy?”
“Yeah. At Maisy and her fucked-up rule. And this fucked-up situation where I’m obsessed with you and we’re perfect together, and I can’t have you.”
“You don’t care how she feels about us?”
I turn from the window to face her, finding she’s drifted closer. “I care. But I’m not gonna roll over and do whatever she tells me.”
“What about what I tell you?”
Silence. Finally, I nod. “Okay. Got me there, girl.”
But there’s no triumph in her expression.
“So you want me to leave you alone?”
She’s ready to say yes—her lips nearly forming the word—but she stops. Of course she doesn’t want me to leave her alone. Who in their right mind would want to put an end to this feeling? “I want you to be my friend. That’s all.”
Does she think this is a nice compromise?
Or does she realize she’s asking me to do the hardest thing of all?
Walking away and never seeing that perfect face again would be a thousand times easier than being this girl’s friend.
Looking but not touching. Standing by while other dudes smile at her, touch her, make her fall in love.
Jealousy, bitter as poison, shoots through me.
But I agree anyway, vowing to give her what she asks for. “Okay. I’ll be your friend.” For now. Not forever.
Forever with me and Georgia will look a whole lot different.