Chapter Eleven

Georgie found it weird that this guy was following her home as though he were her bodyguard. She certainly didn’t need that kind of treatment. She was strong and intelligent and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She never got rides home from anywhere else after dark. Why would she need that now?

But then again, the guy was kind of cute and it was slightly chivalrous, even though his ulterior motive was so that Noah could get into Harper’s pants. She shook her head. Men—the games they play.

She pulled up in front of her townhouse, which sat at the end of a quiet beach road. After opening the garage door, she pulled her car inside. Purse in hand, she walked toward Spencer, who was parked in the driveway, his car still running.

“So, I guess here’s where we shake hands and say it’s been nice meeting under other circumstances,” she said, giving him a nod.

But he turned off the car, pulled his key from the ignition, and stepped out of the car.

“The night is still young,” he said. “I thought you’d invite me in for a drink.”

She knit her brow. That was mighty presumptuous of him. But she did kill his board. And she could give him the quilt. Except it wasn’t done yet, so no, she wanted to hold off on that. Eh, what was the harm in inviting him in for a short while? Noah knew him; it wasn’t like he was some creepy stalker.

“Fine, if you insist—but one drink. I’d like to get to bed on the early side tonight.”

“But it’s a Saturday night. Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, but I’d like to go to bed, if that’s all right by you.”

The truth was, there was something about him that kept stirring things up inside her, and she was ready to call it a night and retire to bed with one of those vibrators she’d freaked out her aunt with. Time to cut to the chase and call it a night.

She unlocked the front door and let him in. They walked up a flight of steps into an open living room that overlooked the ocean.

“Nice place,” he said. “Greatest view on earth.”

“Well, there are probably nicer views—”

“I mean the ocean. It’s gorgeous. Anytime anyone has an ocean view, it’s the best view going. I could watch it all day long. It’s like meditation for me.”

She shook her head. “I so agree. It calms me. Well, except when I drive into people’s surfboards.” She laughed.

“Yeah, well, accidents happen.”

“Will you forgive me?”

He nodded. “If you give me that drink you promised me.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I promised you a drink?”

“Yeah, somewhere between my groveling and my groveling.”

She smiled. At least he acknowledged it. She motioned to the sofa. “Give me your coat and pull up a seat.”

She went to the kitchen and poured two tumblers of bourbon, then handed him his glass as she sat down next to him.

“So,” she said, taking off her shoes and resting her feet on the coffee table. Because what was she going to say? It was all a bit awkward, him being here simply to keep Harper with Noah. It was as though she were being babysat.

“So, yourself.” He sipped his drink. “Tell me: what makes Georgie tick?”

She sat with that for a minute. Huh? No one had asked anything like that before.

“Ummm… I have no freaking idea what makes me tick.” She screwed up her face, unhappy with that lame answer.

“Nothing? You can’t think of a single thing?” he asked. “Let me help prompt you. Plastic or paper? Dog or cat? Whiskey or wine?” He held up his drink. “I suppose you already answered that one. How about boxers or briefs?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s see. Neither with the bags. I use my own bags when I go to the grocery store.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Nothing. You seem like the type of person who would do that. You drive a beat-up old Volvo. That means you carry your own grocery bags.”

“That sounds like an insult, but I’m not going to take it that way. What do you use?”

“Neither. I hardly ever go to the store. If I do, it’s a case of beer or one of those lifetime supply packages of toilet paper or paper towels, and they don’t fit in a bag. If it’s a couple of other things, I’ll toss them in the car.”

Georgie shook her head. “Men.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Only that men are so damn simplistic. It’s like you’re boiled down to the basics. Kind of like babies: eat, drink, sleep, go to the bathroom. And not in that particular order.”

He belted out a laugh. “Now that is hilarious. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a baby before.”

“Well, consider yourself compared.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. You’re entitled to your opinion. But remember, you’re the one who blubbered over my broken board. Isn’t it babies who bawl?”

She frowned. “No comment. Next question.”

“Okay, then. Dog or cat?”

“Why must I choose? Can’t I have one of each?”

“I’m not making you get one. I’m asking which you’d prefer.”

“Well, I prefer both. And if you can throw in a bunny, I’d appreciate it.”

He pulled out a pretend pen from behind his ear and a pretend notepad from his pocket. “Don’t forget the bunny. Check. So then next on the list: boxers or briefs.”

“Don’t even get me started on that one,” she said.

“Sorry, I already have. Continue.”

“Fine. But it’s gonna be a rant.”

“Rant away.”

“All right, so Danny insisted on tighty-whities. I hated them so much. They reminded me of my dad, who would get drunk and storm around the house in his saggy-assed tight whites, which were always more gray, screaming and hollering and pitching a fit. I can’t disassociate briefs from that, so I unequivocally detest them. I tried to get Danny to change them. I bought him some of those sexy Italian bikinis, but he said they were gay. And that of course pissed me off because a) what does that even mean and b) there is nothing wrong with someone who is gay. And c), if they were gay, or if they meant you were gay, then at least gay men wore better underwear than he did.” She stopped for a breath but was just getting started.

“I tried boxers with him. He said things hung too loose. What the hell? I mean half of America wears them, don’t they? And they’re all suffering from loose bits? Really? I liked the boxer-brief option, especially if they were in black, because they didn’t evoke those awful memories of my jerk dad. They’re sexy, and it would solve that looseness issue. But Danny would never change a thing about the way he wanted his life to be.”

Spencer had thrust his bottom lip out into a frown. “Danny?”

She shrieked a little, taking a large sip of her drink to accompany the sound. “Danny. The man I thought I wanted to marry. That is until he backed out of the wedding precisely two weeks and six days before it was scheduled. That Danny.”

Spencer whistled. “This guy Danny did that to you? What a complete douchebag.”

She nodded aggressively. “Tell me about it. Do you know how much money it costs to pay for a canceled wedding?”

“You should’ve made him pay for it.”

“Yeah well, good luck with that because along with his backing out, he up and disappeared. Gone like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“On the one hand, I’m truly sorry,” he said, reaching out his hand to pat her on the shoulder. Except he missed and instead swiped her breast. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But on the other hand,” he continued, “I’m glad you didn’t get stuck with him because the type of man who would do that is not the type of man you want to be stuck with for all eternity, you know?”

“Oooh, yeah. I do know that. Ultimately it was a blessing disguised as a flaming pile of dog poop that some prankster left on my doorstep to stomp out while in a pair of expensive stilettos.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking confused. “That. I suppose.”

“My point is, yes, it was a gift, but a pretty shitty bit of packaging.”

“So how long ago was it that Danny the Douche pulled the runner?”

“It’s been almost two years,” she said. “Two whole years since I—” She froze.

“Since you?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Let’s say since I dated.”

His eyes grew wide. “You haven’t been on a date in two years?”

She stood and went back to the kitchen, bringing the bourbon bottle back with her. She refilled both glasses. “Nope. And that’s fine by me.”

“You know I was thinking, this is almost like Tinder, only without the sex.”

“Tinder?”

“Yeah you know, the hookup app?”

“You use that thing?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Uh, no.” She shook her head vehemently.

“Why not?”

“Because that seems to be like a huge disease factory waiting to happen.” She stuck out her tongue. “Plus, ick. Thanks, no thanks. I’ll settle for my vibrator.”

Georgie no sooner got the words out than she blanched. Did she honestly say that?

“Oh my God. You didn’t say that, did you?” Spencer closed his eyes and shook his head, no doubt trying to erase the mental image.

Georgie sensed the red of embarrassment sprinting up her neck and across her face. “Yep. Good ole Georgie ‘No Filter’ Childress, at your service.” She heaved a sigh. “Bad enough that I already unloaded that one on my mean aunt.”

“You told your aunt about your vibrator?”

She shrugged. “Well, it was more like telling her I didn’t need the man she kept gloating that I couldn’t get and keep, because, well, between my vibrator and online porn, who needs a man anymore?”

Spencer spat out his bourbon, then tried to wipe it off Georgie’s nice white sofa using his jacket, with little success.

“Don’t’ worry about that. It’s seen way worse.” She waved her hand.

He tried to imagine what worse it might have seen.

“Get your head out of the gutter. Not that kind of worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please. I know what you were thinking. You’re a guy, after all.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, so maybe I did think that. But I am a guy, after all. Besides, let’s think this through to the logical conclusion. First off, you haven’t even dated a guy in two years.” He lifted his hand, counting off with his fingers. “Second, you haven’t had sex with a guy in two years. And I’m betting that hardly even counts because it was with Douchebag Dan, who couldn’t be bothered to change up his underwear for you, so I’m betting sex was perfunctory at best.”

Georgie buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe I am talking to a near stranger about the sex I’m not having and how bad the sex I once had was.”

“We’re not total strangers,” he said. “After all, you did kill my surfboard. So, we’re at least acquaintances, on an as-needed apology basis.”

“There is that.” Georgie started to think about this. She didn’t know him yet made him a quilt. Was that so much different from throwing caution to the wind and having a one-night stand with the guy? Wasn’t he paving the way to that suggestion?

People have one-nighters all the time, don’t they? Sometimes you simply need to scratch an itch. She looked at him, admiring how handsome he was in what remained of his suit. He’d removed his suit jacket and had loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top button. His sleeves were rolled up a little bit so she could see that stretch of forearm that looked so sexy on a man. She remembered him with his wet suit slung low on his hips. That broad chest, the smattering of gold chest hair. The perfect amount to play with but not so much that he was a hairy beast.

Could she simply say “fuck it” and sleep with him? Besides, he knew Noah and Noah had known Harper for much of their lives, and she knew Harper, so he was practically family.

“I’m only saying, maybe your sofa needs to see that. And while I’ll gladly offer up my services, it certainly doesn’t need to be me. But seriously, Georgie. Two years? You sure that thing”—he pointed toward her crotch—“hasn’t petrified in that time period? You might want to double-check. Or I’ll be happy to check for you.” He gave her a broad grin.