George’s grin is slow and takes over his handsome face in an unfairly sexy curve. “You always act so sweet in person. I like reading your cynicism.”
His words slip past a protective shell I wasn’t even aware I’d formed around my heart. George has read my notes. He knows the people-pleaser version of me is a curtain I draw over a broken, jagged window of skepticism and distrust.
And helikesit.
“You’re a masochist, aren’t you?” I wave a scolding finger at him, trying to tease my way away from the heady weight of being accepted for myself. “Rich-boy weirdo.”
He grumbles a pleased noise. “Yeah, baby. Just like that.”
My mouth falls open, and he lets out another boom of a laugh.
Then a black fuzzy blur streaks through the room, ricocheting off the wall, then the couch, finally landing with a thunk on the wide windowsill. There, the newcomer proceeds to meow loudly and on repeat.
“Ah. Jet.” I face the cat and offer a nod of respect. “We meet at last.”
The short-haired feline goes still, then she launches off her perch and scrambles across the hardwood floor as if chased by a hellhound. Even after she disappears from sight, yowls sound from deeper in the condo.
“Her feeder is set to go off soon,” George explains. “She gets antsy around dinnertime.”
“Me, too.” I offer a solemn nod. “It’s good to know you have experience with high-maintenance females.”
George stares at me, his gaze growing heated the longer he looks. “Is that what you are? High maintenance?”
“Extremely.” I heft the armful of books I plan to take with me when I leave.
He smirks, then finds me a reusable bag to tuck them into before digging some beers out of the refrigerator. While I sip mine and continue to explore, George settles on his large sectional, seeming content to simply watch me. I wander closer to the window, intending to admire the view, but I’m distracted by a haphazard pile of packing material in the corner.
“Are you moving?” I nod toward the cluster of cardboard boxes.
George rolls his eyes. “Those are Jet’s. Apparently a three-hundred-dollar cat tower is shit when compared to the box it was delivered in.”
I laugh because his weird cat is funny, and I ignore how George quoted an amount I spend on a month’s worth of groceries.
At least Jet is getting him used to a cheap date.
But it’s a bleak reminder that this, whatever it is, can only ever be a casual thing. George and I come from different worlds. One where he’s financially stable and I save quarters and dimes because those coins matter, damn it.
Some people in my position might see George as a ticket out. Get the rich guy to fall for me, and the crumbling highway of my life will be repaved in gold asphalt. That’s exactly what Tiffany was after with Shawn.
But even if George gave me free rein with his money, that’s not a relationship I could ever feel comfortable in. Not after what my mom went through.
Maybe I shouldn’t think that way. I know George is different from Karl.
At least, I think he is.
The truth is, I never met the version of my biological father that had my mom swooning for him, however briefly. For all I know, he could’ve wooed her with insightful words and thoughtful gestures.Maybe he kissed her in airplanes and brought her to a condo in the city so they could be alone together.
All this to say, relying on a wealthy man is not something I ever plan to do. Even Shawn. When I reveal the truth, I can’t trust that my brother will stick around even after I pay him back. In that situation, though, I get it. The mistrust will be my fault.
But with George, it’s best to take the good as it comes but keep my expectations low. For both our sakes.
As if sensing that my thoughts have turned dark at the edges, George snags my hand. He reels me in, claiming my beer to set it next to his on a side table before guiding me to straddle his lap. The man’s thighs make for a spacious seat. I expect him to start kissing me immediately, taking control of the situation, rekindling the heat from the cockpit.
But instead of diving into ravishment, George wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in for a firm hug. He presses his face into my neck, and I could swear the man is breathing me in.
“You’re a hugger,” I accuse, trying to sound put out, even as my body naturally melts into his embrace.
George’s chest rumbles with a laugh, and because the center of me is pressed against his lower belly, I can feel the vibration in an erotic way.
