34 | Georgia
“TODD’S CALLING!” I whisper frantically as Eleanor helps to clasp my necklace.
“Answer it!”
“Hey, you,” I rasp coyly into the phone, attempting to sound seductive.
Eleanor raises her eyebrows at me and struggles to stifle her laughter.
“I don’t know,” I mouth to her, “I panicked.”
“Hey, sexy lady,” Todd yells into the receiver.
I pull it away from my ear, wincing. It sounds like the phone is simultaneously in the back seat of his car and a centimeter away from his face.
“Sexy lady?” Eleanor mouths, wincing in disgust.
I wave her off frantically, walking into the living room for a chance at privacy.
“Listen, Georgia – I’m gonna be there a little late. I’ll pick you up at about 7:50. That work?”
“Sure, sounds perfect,” I whisper, elongating my words like I’ve seen every temptress do in the movies.
“What?” he shouts, the line growing more static with every passing second.
“Oh, um, I said sure!” I shout back, my normal cadence returning.
“See you then!”
He hangs up the phone before I can reply, and Eleanor ambles into the room with a look of disbelief on her face.
“Georgia, what was that voice?”
“I was trying to sound sexy!” I cry, throwing my face down into a throw pillow with a loud thud.
“You sounded like Jessica Rabbit got bronchitis.”
She grins, plopping herself down beside me on the couch.
“Whatever – at least I have a date.”
“Not wearing that, you don’t.”
She looks me up and down critically, examining my Texas University tank top, black leggings, and sneakers.
“What? This is what I always wear.”
She rolls her eyes as she grabs my hand, dragging me towards her room.
“Come with me.”
My nerves start to get the best of me as I stand outside Eleanor and I’s apartment, waiting for Todd to pick me up.
Am I doing the right thing?
I still haven’t gotten over what happened with Henry. How could I? He led me on for months, got me to tell him my deepest secrets and feelings, kissed me like his life depended on it – all while he was going home to another girl.
No, Georgia. You were the other girl.
I feel my eyes start to well with tears, an all-too-common occurrence this last week.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. You’ve got a drop-dead gorgeous, 6-foot-3 football player heading to your house right now to take you on a date. Woman up.
I shiver as a gust of wind blows over me, immediately prickling my exposed skin.
Why did I let Eleanor talk me into wearing this? I feel ridiculous.
I tried to argue that by dressing me in a tight, red mini dress and heeled boots, she was stripping me of my natural, charismatic, “girl-next-door” personality that men find so enticing. But she wasn’t having it.
“This’ll get his gears turning,” she’d muttered as she forcefully rearranged my cleavage to be as pronounced as possible.
“We’re just going as friends,” I’d pleaded. “Besides, if people from class see me waiting out there for him dressed like this, they’ll think I’m working the corner.”
“Good.”
I can hear Todd’s truck coming before I can see it – a giant diesel monster raised about 10 feet off the ground.
Oh, lord. Just remember how hot he is, Georgia. And he likes you. Only you.
Todd lets out a low whistle as I open his passenger-side door, hoisting myself into the truck.
“Damn, Georgia. Nice rack,” he remarks casually, his amber eyes lingering on my chest.
“Oh. Um, thanks.” I shift uncomfortably in the bucket seat as he immediately presses the gas, propelling me forward as we begin the short drive to Stetson’s.
The country music is roaring as we step through the front door of the bar, the pink and red neon lighting instantly enveloping us in their warm pigment. The sounds of shuffling boots can be heard all across the worn wooden flooring as couples line dance, their steps heavy and clumsy from the alcohol.
All eyes are instantly on Todd as we head towards the bar. Sorority girls out with their friends in Daisy Dukes and crop tops, mouths agape and eyes wide as he walks past them; men in country hats and Wranglers side-eyeing Todd in envy. I shuffle behind him, attempting to keep up with his long stride, before settling myself in a chair at the tall, wooden bar.
“You want a drink?” he shouts, straining to be heard over the pumping western music.
I nod, surveying the crowd and growing self-conscious as I notice the glares from every other girl in the room.
Dressed in a pressed button up, starched Wranglers, and an ivory cowboy hat, Todd appears to tower over every person in the room. His long, dark curls flare beneath his hat in a way that’s effortlessly sexy – and he knows it.
“How do I look?” he asks, handing me a shot of dark brown liquor as he quickly downs his own.
“Great,” I reply, drumming my fingers on the bar awkwardly.
He nods, satisfied with my answer. “Wanna dance?”
The music is a catchy, early 2000’s country song that instantly reminds me of my mom. She’d play it on Saturday mornings when she was sober, sweeping the kitchen and singing along to every word in a breathy, comforting voice. Those moments were few and far between, long before I had to move in with Eleanor, and I take a deep breath as the memory flows through my mind.
Lyrics about getting revenge on the singer’s cheating boyfriend ring in my ears as they travel through the bar, making me think of not only my mom, but Henry. I watch, a lump growing in my throat, as drunken girls on the dance floor scream the words about destroying his truck and never talking to him again.
He didn’t cheat on you, Georgia. You were the one he was cheating with! Natalia did nothing wrong. God, why are you even thinking about this? You’re here with Todd!
I look up at him and realize that he’s still waiting for me to answer.
Taking his hand, I chug my shot and choke back coughs as the liquor burns my throat and lungs.
The dance floor is packed, but everyone clears a space for Todd as he saunters confidently into the center of the room. The song is quick and energetic, and he wastes no time wrapping a muscular arm around my torso and yanking me towards him, connecting our bodies. Swaying from side to side hastily as our hands intertwine, we step along the length of the dance floor to the beat of the music. Todd hums the melody to himself as he spins me, and laughs as I clumsily collapse into him from dizziness.
“Real light on your feet,” he jokes, his eyes quickly trailing from my lips down to my cleavage.
This dude cannot keep his eyes off my tits.
I chuckle stiffly as the song fades, the bar erupting into hollers of excitement as a popular line dance melody starts to fill the room.
“Oh, shit. I love this one,” Todd mutters, filing into place with the others along the center of the dance floor.
“I don’t know this dance,” I mouth to him, my eyes wide as a boy I don’t recognize grabs my hand and waist and starts to shuffle us along the dance floor to the beat of the music.
We dance for a few lines as I avoid eye contact, instead frantically scanning the room for any signs of Todd. He’s easy enough to find across the bar, his large frame towering over all the other people…
Except one.
Henry?
It is him. Standing by the door to the bar, dressed in a pressed button up and dark wash jeans, with his chestnut hair styled just as it was at our last meeting with Dr. Randie. His expression is simmering with anger – but he’s not looking at me. As I shuffle along to the beat of the song, a stranger still wrapped around my waist, I follow his gaze across the room.
He’s looking at Todd.
Henry notices me as the choreographed dance shuffles the stranger and I into his line of sight, and his expression immediately shifts from anger to dejection. To my surprise, he begins to push his way through the crowd towards me, dodging couples spinning and dipping and jumping as the song continues to blast through the speakers.
“Can I cut in?” he inquires, impatiently darting his eyes between us as he waits for the stranger boy’s response.
The boy swallows hard, his expression uncertain. “Uh, sure–”
“Thanks.”
Henry immediately takes his place, my hand barely untangling from the other boy’s fingers before he grasps me confidently, his touch tender and earnest.
“What are you here?” I snarl, my tone cutting. “You have a girlfriend.”
He spins me around, matching the movements of the other dancers, before gently pulling me back against him. His feet move quickly, as if he’s danced to this song a million times before.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Georgia,” he asserts as he guides me through each movement instinctively.
I scoff, a lump forming in my throat.
“So, you came here to lie to me again?”
Tears form in my eyes, embarrassing me, and I swallow in an attempt to will them away.
“I would never lie to you.” He pauses for a moment to dip me to the music smoothly, like it’s second nature. “Can I please explain?”
I shake my head no, concentrating on keeping my tears inside my eyes where they belong.
Don’t cry here, Georgia – you’re supposed to be having the time of your life on a date with Todd Watson. Don’t let Henry hurt you again.
“Georgia–”
“I said no, Henry,” I snap, a single tear escaping as I groan in frustration. “You’ve hurt me enough as it is!”
“He’ll hurt you!” he pleads, nodding in the direction of Todd as we continue to step to the music, bodies intertwined. “That dude is fucking crazy, Georgia!”
“You’re fucking crazy!” I retort, the harshness of my voice stopping him in his tracks. We stand, unmoving, in the center of the dance floor. “Giving me that jersey, kissing me, lying to me about being with her!”
The tears are flowing freely now as I rush off, wiping each drop as it falls to avoid streaking my makeup. Henry follows me, grabbing my hand and turning me towards him as I step towards the front door.
“Everything was real, Georgia!” he asserts, his voice desperate. “Todd and Natalia hate me. They’re working together to ruin my life.”
I sneer, rolling my eyes at him.
“Yeah, right. You seriously think I’m gonna believe that? We’re adults, Henry! And I’m on a date with someone else!”
He swallows, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening as he notices Todd striding in our direction. He starts speaking rapidly, trying to get out every word before Todd makes it across the dance floor.
“Georgia, please listen to me. Watson was meant to be captain this year. Coach gave me his spot when the Mavericks said they’d sign me, and because Watson’s a drunk. Natalia’s been out to get me since the night you first came to my house. She came upstairs and tried to have sex with me, and I rejected her.”
He rakes his hand through his hair, a look of uncertainty clouding his demeanor, before continuing.
“When Watson ran into me on that field, he wasn’t trying to hit me. He was trying to hit you – because Natalia wanted revenge, and because Watson knew it’d destroy me to see you get hurt.”
He looks at me, desperate and vulnerable.
“Georgia,” he rasps, his voice gravely and low. “I haven’t been able to even think about another woman since the first day I saw you.”