The only reason I’m alive is ’cause nobody knows where I am.
And that thought led right back to the memories he’d tried hardest to suppress over the last few hours: George Hadley in her perfect storybook world.
Images flew at him: her messed-up cat, purring in his lap; kissing her; his goddamned aching hard-on… He closed his eyes on the view again, the better to remember her arms around him, the solid reality of her grip, the good, clean wholesomeness of her. He didn’t deserve it. Any of it. He deserved the shitty-ass motel, the pain in his body, the fucking zap of the laser. He deserved to die, even, but…
Man, she was hot.
The thought hit him unexpectedly. Out of place and weird. But up until now, she’d been…something else. Something too pristine, a little uptight. A sexy doctor, but still his doctor. And completely out of reach. Now, with the things that had happened, she was different. Hot and essential and available. So, of course, he’d gone and botched that up. Well, he kind of had to, right? When things were way too good to be true? You couldn’t go around living the high life with a giant X on your back.
Could you?
* * *
A busy workday helped George think about something other than Andrew. Except in the end, she couldn’t stop thinking about him at all.
It was later than she usually got home, because like an idiot, she’d prepped a room and waited at the clinic for him to arrive. When he hadn’t, the only person she’d been angry at was herself.
Irritated all over again, she slammed her car door and headed toward her house.
“Hey, neighbor,” called Jessie from somewhere beyond the hedge.
“Hi, Jessie.”
“Busy?”
“Oh.” She paused. “No.”
“Wanna come hang out?”
“Yes!” she yelled a tad too loudly. Distraction! “Let me get cleaned up and—”
“Oh, take your time. I’ve got the booze tonight,” Jessie said, rattling something in what might have been a bucket of ice.
“Oh, good. I’ll bring snacks.”
“Match made in heaven,” Jessie said.
George ran inside to feed Leonard, then back outside to put the chickens to bed, pick a bowl of salad, and, with a mournful glance at the sky, turn the sprinkler on.
Back inside, she pulled out leftovers and some of the same mini quiches she’d made for her in-laws. Just as she was headed out, her gaze fell on the pathetic, untouched tray of brownies from the night before, and with a bratty huff, she picked it up and stuck it in her basket before slamming out the front door and heading over.
“Oh my God, how are you still single?” asked Jessie when George unpacked everything in the kitchen. “What a cornucopia of delight.”
“Where’s Gabe?”
“At a sleepover.” Jessie’s smile faded. “I am such a mess. My boy goes on a sleepover, only like the third one in his entire life, and I’m putting a brave face on it. Like, I love the free time to, you know, drink alone on the porch and all, but my little boy’s growing up, and he’s already deserting me!” The last bit was moaned in an “I’m having a breakdown” kind of voice that George could appreciate, although probably not entirely relate to. Solitude was, after all, her norm.
“I’m sorry” was her inadequate response.
Jessie, though, didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, whatever. I really need to get over myself. Here, have a glass and tell me about your day while I plate these amazing morsels you brought.”
“We need to wash the lettuce.”
“On it. Wash lettuce. That’s something I can handle. Now grab yourself some vino. It’s on the front porch.”
A few sips into her glass, George’s phone rang. The number was Uma’s. “Hello?”
“George? Hey, it’s Uma. Hope now’s an okay time?”
