Chapter Nineteen #2
Tam, never one for subtlety, choked theatrically on her gin. “You can’t be second guessing this! Hot rugby men with cheekbones to die for, steady jobs and without mountains of emotional baggage are a fully endangered species.”
Georgia buried her face in her hands. “I know! I know. I sound like the ex-girlfriend in a shitty movie. The one who leaves the nice guy for a biker with tattoos and a cigarette.”
Tam leaned in. “I do hear emotionally avoidant and sexually conflicted is in right now. Hot. What all the boys and girls are lusting after.”
“I’m not emotionally avoidant,” Georgia said, not even convincing herself.
Tam leaned back, sobering a little. “Hey. Look, seriously. Not feeling it isn’t a crime. But if what you really mean is that you’re feeling it for someone else, then that isn’t a crime either.”
Georgia looked across the room again. Matt was still laughing, still everything a person should want.
Tam was quiet for a moment. She tapped her nails on the table, a quick staccato rhythm that meant she was working out what to say. “So, if Matt is the rom-com husband you divorce in act two… does that make Erin the tattooed biker?”
Georgia snorted.
Tam bit her lip, squinting into the crowd, trying to make out the dark shape of Erin’s head.
“No? Because from where I’m sitting, she’s the emotionally-complex, slow-burn, unfinished-business love interest who says things like ‘I’ve always had awful timing’ and then disappears into the crowd like a sexier Bond villain. ”
“I mean,” Georgia started, intending to divert Tam into a discussion on which Bond villains were actually sexy, then stopped. It was probably that kind of comment that Tam meant when she called Georgia emotionally avoidant.
Perhaps that was what Maggie meant, when she’d said leadership wasn’t about control. It most certainly described a girl that started relationships when drunk at her best friend’s wedding.
Georgia leaned back against the wall, knocking her head against the plasterwork. Tam watched her, eyebrows raised, the way she always did when she knew Georgia was about to twirl away from the edge of a real feeling.
Georgia gave a helpless laugh. “Am I fucking everything up?”
“Georgia, no.”
Georgia waved her denials off. “I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of it, really.”
Tam leant forward, caught Georgia’s hand in her own. “Georgia,” she started, then stopped. She took a sip from her gin and tonic and let her eyes roam across the rest of the pub. She gave Georgia’s hand another squeeze. “Do you need to know?”
Georgia gave her a flat look. “I think it generally helps.”
Tam returned the look, tilting her head. She’d always been able to see through Georgia’s deflections. It never took long before Georgia cracked under that steady gaze and expectant waiting.
Georgia swirled her lemonade, clinking the ice against the side of the tall tumbler. “It’s easier, though, isn’t it? When there’s clean lines and formations and…”
“And when none of the opposition are going to ask if you still want the person that broke your heart?” Tam kept her voice low and kind.
Georgia gave a small, tight smile. “Yeah, exactly that.”
Tam nudged her foot under the table. Georgia swallowed and held her gaze. There was a reason they’d been friends for so long, even after Georgia went up to Westcliffe, then England, and Tam had stayed home in Redford.
The pool match must have finished, because the guys left the table, stepping down off the raised platform where the table was, and made their way over to Tam and Georgia.
Ollie slid in next to Tam, offering her a kiss on the cheek and a tentative grin. Matt flopped down into the seat next to her, his hand landing, casually possessive, high on her thigh. Like Erin’s earlier, his hand was hot through the denim, his fingers scratching along the seam.
Georgia was still choked up, the conversation with Tam sat high in her throat. “D’you want another drink?”
Matt wiggled the empty bottle, making the last dregs slosh against the sides. “Yeah, go on then.”
“Same again?”
Georgia crossed the pub, finding an empty spot at the long, wooden bar.
She’d been there less than ten seconds when Erin stood next to her.
Georgia leant forward, elbows on the bar.
Erin did the same, her sleeves pressing against Georgia’s denim jacket.
Erin reached out, adjusting the bar towel that lay parallel to the brass bottoms of the craft beer pumps in front of them.
One of the corners of the towel flipped over, curling up on itself.
Georgia reached for it at the same time Erin did, their fingers brushing.
Erin didn’t pull back.
Neither did Georgia. She smoothed the towel down, pressing it into the wooden bar top. Women had no game. A man would have made a move by now.
Georgia could make it herself.
She couldn't. That wasn't fair to Matt.
“Your hand’s cold,” she said instead, voice breathy.
“I'm basically cold-blooded,” Erin said, her eyes still on Georgia, ignoring the bartender who was drawing a slanted shamrock into someone else’s Guinness.
They stood in silence for a moment, shoulders not quite touching. Erin’s head was still turned in her direction, and Georgia tried to keep her focus outwards. She watched the bar staff move around each other, pouring wines and measuring out endless spirits from the optics.
Erin glanced sideways. “You alright?”
Georgia hesitated. “Yeah.”
Erin gave a small nod, still watching the bar staff. “Pub’s loud.”
Georgia turned her head. “You hate it,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t mind it,” Erin said, shifting her weight to pivot onto one leg, turning towards Georgia. “When you’re in it.”
“Who’s next?” The barman was in front of them, looking between them for his next order. Georgia grit her teeth.
“Another lemonade, please,” Georgia told him. She turned to Erin. “Can I get you one?”
“Lemonade, too,” Erin told him. To Georgia, she explained: “Driving.”
The barman pushed two identical glasses across the bar towards Georgia, dropping lemon slices onto the ice. Georgia passed one across to Erin.
Their fingers brushed again as Erin took it from her. Deliberately, this time.
“Anything else?”
Georgia nodded, turning back to the barman. “And a bottle of San Miguel, please.”
“For Matt,” she added for Erin’s benefit. It felt unnecessary. Maybe they really did have shit timing. Georgia picked up her lemonade and Matt’s beer and slipped back into the crowd.
Pub punters blocked the route back to the table she’d shared with Tam. Georgia squeezed past tables and slid round the back of a pillar in the middle of the room, coming up behind Matt and the others.
She could hear the Redford gang, their raucous laughter, the way they talked over the end of each other’s sentences, the impossibility of anyone else joining in.
From her angle, Georgia could see Matt in side profile, the artful forward flop of his hair, how he ran his hand up his forehead, eyes sparkling with laughter and drink.
As she got closer, Deano’s loud voice broke through the general hubbub, mid-tease. “So how do you cope with your girl being a better rugby player than you, mate?”
Matt didn’t miss a beat.
“Well, easily,” he said, still smiling. “Because she’s not.”
The boys laughed.
Georgia’s mouth was suddenly dry, the drinks wobbling in her hands. Her body went very still, Matt’s beer sloshing over the neck of the glass bottle.
He said it like a joke. Casual, offhand. A line to get a laugh.
“I mean,” he continued, “she’s got skills, right? But I’ve had her pinned…”
Stu’s laugh was dirty, knowing, and Georgia felt her dinner rise up her throat.
Matt grinned, lapping up the guys’ attention. “…and there was no way she could get out if I didn’t want her to. I’m like four inches taller than her, stronger, faster. On the pitch, there’d be no contest.”
“Mate,” Ollie protested. “She’s a pro. She plays for England.”
“Yeah, obviously.” Matt brushed the objection off. “But I’ve seen the level they’re at. It’s not the same. You put any of us in that league? Easy.”
Stu chipped in too, but Georgia didn’t hear it. Her pulse thudded in her ears, drowning out the din of conversation around her. He’d said it as though it was obvious, as though everyone in the room would, of course, agree with him.
Georgia stepped backwards into the crowd, heart thudding, tears building behind her eyes.
She almost dropped the drinks onto the bar next to Tam, who was still waiting to be served. Tam noticed the shift in her immediately.
“Georgia, you alright?”
Georgia shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She leant on the wooden bar top, the wood sticky under her hands.
“Hey, hey Georgia. What’s wrong?” Tam’s hand touched her bicep, pulling her round.
Georgia didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. She left her drinks and blundered towards the exit, up the stairs to street level and the refreshing night air.