Page 93 of Book Boyfriends
“I…I gotta go,” he says loudly, spinning.
“What?” Jackson turns to face him.
“Something came up,” he shouts, scooping up his bag.
“Davis, wait!” I call.
He looks up at me, his typically boyish smile replaced by a firm line. With a slow shake of his head, he hoists his bag over his shoulder and walks out the door.
I spin on my flip flops, cursing that I didn’t wear sneakers, and run toward the stairs. My heart races with each slap of the sandals against the steps to the first floor, hoping I don’t fall.
“Davis!” My shout is breathless, as I push through the doors that spill out into the corridor that runs along the courts and locker rooms.
He stops, his back towards me. Shoulders squared, he faces me. “Ishewhy your life is messy?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND
“Yes,” I say, my voice small.
It’s the truth. No matter how much I wish it wasn’t. No matter what feelings I don’t have for James, he’s part of my messy life.
“Then youareseeing him,” he says, a hard edge coats the accusation.
“No, I’m not.”
“Buthesays you are.”
“He’s lying. I’m not seeing him.”
“But were you?”
“I…” I release a hard breath. “Sort of. But not really. We never dated, but we had a plan to go on a date. A plan I ended because I don’t want to be with him. I want to be with you. I choose you.” I step closer, taking his hands.
“Choose me?” he scoffs, yanking his hands away. “So, it is what he said it was. That this is just a game with you as the bachelorette and us as the besotted suitors.”
“It wasn’t a game!” My voice cracks. “At least, I never meant for it to be.”
“You didn’t mean to? But you did. Were we just options so you weren’t alone?” he demands.
“No!” I grab his hands again, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “I would never do that to you. To them. It wasn’t like that.”
“Then how was it?” His stare is cold, but he hasn’t pulled his hands from mine, which emboldens me to continue.
“I’m messy. It’s messy. They appeared. Then Jackson thought of this Just Write competition, and I went with it. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t a game, but I see how this looks… how this must feel for you. You’re right to be angry. I am sorry. I, of all people, know better,” I say, realization thickens my throat.
“Just Write? Jackson?” His face pinches.
“Oh god, don’t blame him. Don’t fire him. This is all my fault. I made the wish. I should have stopped this. Jackson was just trying to help.”
“Wish?”
“Your grandpa gave me a lucky penny—although I question its luckiness—and I made an ill-advised wish and tossed it into the fountain at SPN. Next thing I knew, Lars, Owen, and James appeared, and they were all, ‘We’re here for you, Georgia.’ And I’m like, ‘What?” —Releasing our joined hands, I gesture wildly—“The whole thing is farcical and unrealistic, but it’s real. It’s my messy life. The messy life I wanted to keep you from… But here it is, all over you because, according to Lars, I’m all over you.”
“Lars? What?” The furrow deepens on his brow.
“His werewolf super smell power detects my scent all over you because of our mating-adjacent activities and my inability to stay away from you like I should. I should leave you alone, but I don’t want to, not in the least. I don’t want to be friends with you. I want more. To let myself go after what I want, rather than letting the fear that it may not work out hold me back.”
