Page 22 of False Start
Stop being a whiny bitch.
I’d never met a woman as hard to read as Georgia, and maybe that was the truest testament to her acting skills because I kept forgetting we were pretending. When we were together, I felt like she was mine. Like maybe she was worth the risk. But every time reality came crashing in to remind me I didn’t get that. I had my shot and broke it as effectively as I did my shoulder.
With a tight-lipped smile, I turned my attention to the menu, studying the options like they held the answer to life’s mysteries.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Weston. I don’t feel like I can say that enough. You’re… so much more than I ever expected.”
“Let’s just hope you get that call soon.”
We fell silent until the waitress brought over coffee and took our orders. I breathed deeply, appreciating the smells of butter and bacon, with a bitter undernote of coffee filling the air. Georgia fidgeted with her menu. The salt and pepper shakers. She bounced her knee under the table.
I was being belligerent and making her nervous. My own hang-ups weren’t her fault.
“So where are you from? That first night you spoke about moving back in with your parents. Where are they?”
The new subject didn’t seem to make her any more comfortable, but she told me a little about growing up in Texas with her sister. About how Duckie was the tomboy and their father’s favorite. About how their mother had pushed Georgia to more traditionally feminine things. Her posture caved in on itself as she spoke about the woman who birthed her, and I took the first opportunity to redirect the conversation.
“Duckie is an interesting name.”
She snorted. “Her real name is Blair, but she’s had the nickname since we were teens. I can’t remember who came up with it.”
“So Blair lives in Texas still?”
She flashed me a surprisingly dark look over her coffee cup as she took a long sip.
“Yeah, she does. You’d probably get along well with her. She works for the hockey team down there. She doesn’t look like me, though. She’s the smart one.”
“I think you’re smart.”
Georgia brought her mug down on the table a little too hard and coffee spilled across her laminated menu. With a curse, she pulled a handful of napkins out of the silver holder and roughly swiped at the mess.
“Hey,” I said and froze as she flicked watery eyes up toward me before refocusing on the mess in front of her.
“I don’t need you to patronize me, Weston. I know what I am and what I’m not. Trust me. I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who were all too happy to fill me in on my shortcomings. I’m pretty. That’s it. Nothing below the surface. My life will bedone at the first sign of wrinkles, and I’m already on the wrong side of twenty-five.”
She scrubbed her hands over her thighs, avoiding eye contact as I processed her outburst. It was obvious she meant every word, but what I couldn’t come to terms with was the fact she didn’t have anyone in her corner to refute the beliefs. Until now.
“It sounds like you’ve been surrounded by the wrong kinds of people for a long time,” I said carefully, trying to catch her eye.
I could fix this. I wasn’t sure how yet, but there had to be a way to help her. Even if she was using me for the clout, everyone deserved to have people at their back.
The answer came to me in a nauseating wave of vulnerability.
“When I injured my shoulder last year, I thought that was it for me,” I said.
Now it was my turn to take an interest in the dishes as her head shot up. I wrapped my hands around my empty mug and knocked it gently against the table as I thought through my words.
“I told you my girlfriend left me when I got injured. She didn’t want the washed-up has-been she thought I’d become. I learned who my true friends were during that time. People who would always have my back, like family. Well, like family should,” I corrected as she flinched.
“I promise, no matter what happens between us, I’ll be honest with you, and I’ll have your back.”
A tear splashed on the table in front of her, and she swiped at her eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
I reached across the table and squeezed her wrist. Beneath my fingers, I could feel her trembling.
“I want to. You and me? We’re in this together.”
