“What if they getmad?”
“Not while I’m standinghere.”
She put the hat back on and spoke a little louder. “I’m a Yankeesfan.”
The guy turned back. “Not with that shit on your head. A true fan wouldn’t be caught dead inthat.”
“For your information, the hat is so I don’t get a sunburn. I’m a born-and-bred Yankees girl, but I’ll wear what Iwant.”
“Whatever,” he muttered as his friend paid the cashier. “Poserbitch.”
I stepped around Georgina. “What the fuck did yousay?”
“It’s okay,” Georgina said, grasping my bicep as if she could hold me back. “I takebitchas a compliment, especially from thisturd.”
Turd? I gaped at her, unsure whether to laugh at her attempt at an insult or pound thisidiot.
“Ignore him, he’s drunk,” the guy’s friend said as they got their beers. “We don’t wanttrouble.”
I stared them down until they were out of sight. Georgina deflated beside me with a soft sigh and I glanced back at her. Her back went straight as if I’d caught her doing something wrong. “We showed them, huh?” shesaid.
I studied her a moment. “That took a lot of effort for you, didn’tit?”
She attempted a casual shrug, but I couldn’t help noticing her chokehold on the beer. “Nobody likesconfrontation.”
“Yet, if I’d called you a bitch, you would’ve put me six feetunder.”
“Maybe. Maybenot.”
I arched an eyebrow at her. “Come again?” I asked. “You nearly took me out at the café for farless.”
“I hadn’t had my coffee yet. Should we go back?” She picked up her bag from thetable.
I took it, set it back down, and guided her onto a stool by her shoulders. She wasn’t getting off that easily. “You and I are going to have a little chat,Georgina.”
“About?”
I’d had enough back and forth from her. She’d done an admirable job of keeping me on my toes, but I needed both feet on the ground where she was concerned. Maybe it was the beer or the fact that we were far from the office, but I sensed she’d open up now if I pushed her. “How come you were quiet and shy at the café before our collision? And why was it so hard to speak up for yourself just now? And why is it okay foranyoneto call you abitch?”
She sighed. “You know what they say. Men lovebitches.”
“Who saysthat?”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Listen to this,” she said. “On the way here, a man offered me half an avocado. On thesubway.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “Why?”
“I have noidea.”
“Did he at least give you something to eat itwith?”
“No,” she said and smiled in a cute way that made me forget what we were supposed to be talking about. Which I supposed was herplan.
“How’d you respond?” Iasked.
“I told him no thanks—I only eat the bad kind offat.”
I laughed. “Why is this relevant? Did he call you abitch?”
