Chapter Eighteen
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I should have realized.” She glanced at the calendar on the wall—one of those freebie calendars with kitty cats on it in seasonal attire. The December picture had three kittens asleep with miniature Santa Claus hats on their tiny heads. They were perfectly adorable. Georgie knew those kitties had lots of people—and kitties—to love them in their lives and that made her cry even more. “It would have been next week, right?”
Noah raised his hand, obviously in the dark. “Uh, what would have been next week?”
“My wedding.” Georgie bawled, even though she knew that every man worth his salt squirmed and trembled at the sight of a crying woman. She didn’t care. He was a man, and a man was to blame for her tears so he needed to man up and take credit for the rest of them. Inevitably they all were to blame at some point for breaking a woman’s heart, so there should be some sort of collective guilt owned by their half of the species.
“Oh, crap,” he said. “You were supposed to get married next week? But I thought you and Spencer recently hooked up—” He pointed a finger at her and then toward the outside, the finger evidently aiming toward where Spencer lived.
Harper kicked him. “Ix-nay on encer-spay,” she said.
“What?” he said half under his breath to Harper as if Georgie couldn’t hear him. Of course she could, even past her continued crying fits.
“Georgie was engaged to be married a few years ago, and her cad of a fiancé skipped out on her weeks before the big day.”
Yep, that was Georgie’s life in a nutshell.
“Oh, Georgie, I’m really sorry. I had no idea.”
She held her hand up to dismiss it. “It’s fine.” She reached for the nearby tissues and took the whole box, as one or two would not suffice under the circumstances.
“And the subject of Spencer isn’t helping matters, so let’s not discuss him either,” Harper said, elbowing Noah. He held his hands up in surrender. Clearly the females confounded him. “Right, sweetie?”
Georgie nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Spencer, the commitment-phobic commitment-phobe. And yet she couldn’t stop herself. “What’s the matter with me? Why won’t he even try to see if we could be more than fuck buddies? Not that we are fuck buddies. That was a one-time thing. And I should be ashamed of myself for capitulating like I did but you know what? I’m perfectly fine with it. I needed a good shagging, to quote Austin Powers. It had been way too long since I’d had honest-to-goodness sex with a man. And longer still since I’d had exceptional honest-to-goodness sex with a man.” She shrugged. “Who knew? Here I thought sex with all men was the same. I mean Danny was pretty perfunctory: you’re in, you’re out. You get what I mean? But Spencer—wowza. That man has a magical tongue. And I think we can leave it at that because what he did to me with that tongue was downright spiritual. I probably came six times that night.”
“Georgie—are you sure you want to get into such detail with Noah here?”
“Why should I care anymore? My sex life is over and done with. I might as well look back on the high points with reverie, right? After all, it’s what is going to take me into my dotage. Me thinking back to the good old days—make that day—better yet, night—when Spencer—oh God, what is his last name? I’m not even sure what his last name is. Does that make me super slutty that I slept with a guy whose last name escapes me—if I ever even knew it? Anyhow, when Spencer What’s-His-Name gave me a Big O with his mouth.” She looked skyward, as if toward the angels, remembering fondly the moment when. “Have you ever done that?” She pointed at Noah, who was turning red with embarrassment.
Harper put her arm over her shoulder. “Sweetie, a good man totally does that. In fact, for future reference, now that you’ve experienced it, be sure to only go with a guy who has that tool in his tool chest, so to speak.”
“But there won’t be another guy,” she wailed. “I’m relegated to that damned vibrator for all of eternity. I need to give it a name. Like some sexy Italian name. Alfredo. It’s me and Alfredo for life. At least Alfredo won’t betray me. Or slip out the door at five in the morning. There’s something to be said for the steadfastness of a rechargeable machine. Besides, if Alfredo eventually dies—from overuse, no doubt—I can always replace him, no questions asked. No feelings hurt.”
“Why don’t I step out and grab a couple more doughnuts,” Noah said, his eyebrows ski-sloped in a plea to flee.
“That would be amazing if you could do that,” Harper said. “And I’ll stay here and soothe my friend Georgie’s soul.”
It was all fine and good for them both to help out—because to be truthful, Georgie could sit and eat a dozen doughnuts right now in an attempt to self-soothe—but she was fairly certain that nothing was going to do much to appease her still-fragile heart.