Page 48 of Beautiful Desire
“I don’t know exactly,” I murmur as the intense pain radiates from my wrist through my whole arm. “Something must’ve bitten me, or fuck… I don’t know. It hit me out of nowhere.”
“Lemme see.” Georgia grabs my hand, keeping her touch gentle. “You got stung by a bee,” she offers after only a few moments.
“What? Are you sure?”
She nods. “Yeah, if you look closely, you can see where the stinger went into your skin.” My wrist is red, but in the center of the welt forming, I see what she’s talking about. “Are you allergic?” she asks, fingers letting go of my hand.
“I have no idea.” Huffing out a breath, I admit, “Never been stung before.”
“Well, we’re about to find out.” Georgia snorts before standing up. “Come on, let’s go. When we get to the house, I can try to take the stinger out.”
By the time we make it home, my wrist is swollen and hot to the touch, and the sting itself itches like a motherfucker. After she scrapes the stinger out—which feels as fucking pleasant as it sounds—she mixes up some baking soda paste and applies it to my skin, which admittedly helps.
“How’s that feel?” she asks, flicking her gaze up to meet mine. Her eyes are soft, as are her fingers holding my wrist, which I can feel throughout my whole body.
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Feels okay.”
“Good.” A small smile tugs on the corner of her mouth, and it reminds me how close we were to kissing back at the park. Her thumb is rubbing gently along my wrist, making my pulse race. A shiver sinks down my spine. She holds my gaze—and my wrist—for another moment longer before moving onto the next step.
“Where’d you learn to make this?” I ask when she places a bandage over the freshly pasted area.
“Google.” Lifting her eyes to meet mine, humor dances between her gaze as a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.
Chuckling, I say, “Okay, smartass.”
Georgia breathes out a laugh. “Being the oldest sibling, I learned a lot of handy home remedies. The house we lived in growing up before my parents split was right next to a field full of sunflowers. We’d play over there a lot, and so did the bees.”
“Did you like being the oldest?” I ask.
“For the most part, yes.” She shrugs. “But there were definitely times when it was frustrating.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one, it was infuriating seeing how lax my parents were when it came to raising Grace and Graham, knowing how strict they were with me when I was their age.” Tossing the bowl used to make the paste in the sink, she adds, “But also, I got stuck babysitting a lot. Especially during the summer, and it was always just kind of…expected of me, since I was the oldest. Just little shit like that.”
“Being an only child, I always wondered what it would’ve been like to have siblings,” I admit. “And then when our parents got married, I was never close with you or the others because of the large age gap between us.”
“The way you behaved around us had a lot more to do with it than our age difference,” she muses, pinning me with a look.
Furrowing my brows, I huff out a laugh and ask, “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Be so for real, Fletcher. Don’t act like you weren’t a spoiled, entitled brat.” She snorts. “Any time you were around us, you acted above us. You never even tried to have a relationship with us, even when we were nice to you.”
“That is not true.” I scoff, which makes Georgia laugh.
“You were an insufferable douchebag, even at fourteen or fifteen years old.”
“Were, huh?” A smile spreads across my face as Georgia looks at me with confusion. “You said ‘youwerean insufferable douchebag,’” I clarify. “Meaning, you don’t think I am now.”
“Jury’s still out on that one,” she says teasingly.
“Bullshit,” I mutter. “I’ve grown on you, and we both know it.”
Georgia rolls her eyes and turns away, but I don’t miss the smile she’s trying to hide. “I don’t know about all of that, rich boy.”
I take a step toward her, and then another, until I’ve got her pinned between me and the counter, and as she turns to face me,a bolt of heat shoots down my spine at the heated look in her eyes. “Admit it, Peach,” I husk, relishing the sight of her pupils dilating.
“There’s nothing to admit,” she murmurs, her chin held high. “I tolerate you, that’s it, but it’s cute that you think so highly of yourself.” If it weren’t for the glint in her eye, I might believe her.
