Page 137 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

“Phone, June? Remember? Research?”

“With my blessing,” she replied magnanimously before putting her headphones in and trying to catch up on our buddy read again.

True to her word, when George eventually showed up, June was quick to intercept his advance toward me. I barely got a glimpse of his cute blondhead before she was yanking him toward the bridesmaids’ cabin to torture him even though I’d told her not to.

I felt a pang of loss as they walked off, especially when I caught George glancing at me over his shoulder, an adorably baffled expression on his face. I waved, so he’d know I wasn’t ignoring him, but settled back in to make use of the time June had bought me when he was out of sight.

It reallywasa shame there wasn’t a quick guide to becoming a Dom, but I knew with tenacity, maybe some outside help, and a whole lot of stubbornness, I was bound for success.

Ha.

Bound.

Fuck, I was no better than June.

No better at all.

I wandered off to speak to the Dom from Columbus. A phone call that I’d expected to last a couple minutes at most, had gone on for well over two hours.

By the time I returned, the sun was high in the sky. The lake water glistened as I approached George’s blond, fluffy head from behind. He had neglected to style his hair today. Which meant the waves were downy, drifting up in lazy spikes with the brush of a pleasant breeze. He didn’t look traumatized by his time with June. In fact, he appeared flushed and somewhat rejuvenated.

The scent of the lake itself was thick in the air. Along with mystery pollen, and whatever algae was lurking below the surface.

Off in the distance, Roderick was zooming around on a wave runner with his pack of groomsmen, June riding behind him. I could hear her laughter, loud and riotous, from all the way across the lake.

Trees lined its edges, dipping reflections in the water, as the great blue sky above filled in the rest of the gaps in the waves.

Beside George sat Mavis. Across from them, Mrs. Milton, Mr. Milton, Joe, and Lacey sat in the sand, holding various types of popsicles and other sweet treats.

Man, what I wouldn’t give to see George eat a popsicle.

Especially wearing those goddamn shorts.

Joe was halfway through burying one of Lacey’s legs, a wrapper at his side. Lacey was on her phone, not paying attention to him, aside from delivering a scathing comment or two that I saw more than heard.

George didn’t see me at first, as engrossed as he was in his current project. Specifically, a giant sand castle that Mavis was “helping” construct. And by helping, I mean knocking it down every time he built a new tower. I could practically hear the maniacal giggle she emitted before the sound escaped. Her wicked glee was written all over her chubby, unicorn-themed-swimsuit-wearing form.

“Bigger!” she said, like a tiny tyrant as George gamely began to shovel sand into a castle-shaped cup. He’d flip it over when it was packed, pull the cup off, then smooth the edges just like he had with all the other peaks she’d demolished, based on the wreckage of sand lumps surrounding them.

“This is the only size I have,” George responded, patient as ever. He was only ever patient with children. Like he found nothing at all irritating about them. Not their questions, or their chaos, or their sticky, sticky hands. It was charming, to say the least. Personally, I’d always been fond of kids. I liked their honesty and I had an excess of energy of my own that I enjoyed burning off with my nephews and nieces.

They were kind by nature.

Hate was taught.

And it was humbling to spend time with creatures that were so quick to emote, as though emotions were not the tricky, uncomfortable things they were.

They didn’t have walls like I did—at least not yet. And I hoped they never would, even though that was maybe a bit naive.

Seeing George with Mavis only served to remind me that we had that in common. Which was…maybe even more overwhelming than my revelations about my own sexual preferences. Or the conversation I’d just had with “Dominic the Dom” who had agreed to, for all intents and purposes, “tutor” me if I needed it.

Slowly, I stalked through the sand, careful not to alert George to my presence until I was literally right behind him.

“Hi Georgie,” I said, leaning into George’s space from behind with a grin. He jerked in surprise and dropped his shovel. When he swiveled to look up, he was glowering. “Didn’t you see me coming?” I teased, amused to discover that he most definitely had not.

“I am too busy building a masterpiece to care about where you are,” George groused, turning back to his half-filled bucket. His red ears betrayed him, as did the way he peeked at me through his lashes, like he was frightened his ire would scare me off.

Quite the opposite, really.

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