This time, a huge smile spreads across my face. When was the last time anyone spoke to me like this? T-Rod, I’m pretty sure. In Maui, several years ago during Josh’s wedding week. Anyone since? I truly don’t think so.
“The truth is, having that demo in my purse the whole time we were talking at the bar turned out to be an albatross around my neck. Of course, I wanted to come through for Alessandra, but I didn’t want that demo to screw up my own chances of getting ‘seduced.’ Which, yes, I fully realize, is exactly what wound up happening. The bottom line is I wanted to have sex with you, Reed, because you made my ovaries vibrate. Was Ialsohoping you might be willing to take a few minutes of your precious time to listen to my stepsister’s songs? Yes. So sue me. But, I swear to God, my desire to help Alessandra wasn’t a ‘hidden agenda.’ It was an agenda that ranconcurrentlywith my own.”
I smile. How could I not? I’m the guy who’s paid money to a cancer charity to get this girl here, after all, because I want to fuck her so badly. Butalsobecause of some other motivations that runconcurrentlywith my desire to fuck her. Things like my genuine desire to help Georgina and her father, and to get CeeCee a promising new employee, and my artists some great publicity. But, yeah... mostly, because I want to fuck Georgina. “Thank you for explaining all that to me,” I say. “For what it’s worth, while I was making your ovaries vibrate, you were making my balls vibrate.”
She can’t help smiling at that. “Thank God for small mercies.”
“Look, I admit I gave you a bit of a harder time the other night than you rightly deserved. And for that, I sincerely apologize.”
She looks shell-shocked. And then deeply pleased. “Thank you. I accept your apology.”
There’s a beat, during which the opening band hits the last, crashing drumbeat of their short set.
“What about you?” I say.
“What about me... what?”
“What do you apologize for?”
She pulls a face that says,Not a goddamned thing.
“You don’t think you have anything to apologize for?”
She twists her mouth. And then says, begrudgingly, “I’m sorry I double-flipped you off. It was rude of me. One middle finger would have sufficed. This one. With my new pretty ring on it.”
She flips me off, singularly, and I can’t help chuckling, despite myself.
She shakes her head and exhales. “Okay, yes, Imaybewent off the rails a teeny-tiny bit. But, honestly, I’m proud of myself for telling you off and leaving when I did. I chose my integrity over my libido. If choosing my integrity over sex with a smoking hot asshole isn’t ‘adulting,’ then I don’t know what is.”
“Mmm hmm. Because you never, ever fuck assholes.”
“Correct.”
“Not even the smoking hot ones.”
“Correct again.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You’re such a liar, Georgina Ricci. And a terrible one, at that. I’d bet anything, literally anything, youonlyfuck smoking hot assholes. In fact, I’d bet a million bucks you’d rather fuck an exciting, smoking hot, bad-boy asshole, than some nice, boring, God-fearingfootball starwith a Captain America smile any day of the week.”
She rolls her eyes, plainly annoyed I’ve invoked Bryce McKellar to make my point. But then she makes a face that tacitly admits I’ve pegged her exactly right. Yep. This girl is a fireball who’s hopelessly attracted to assholes like me, the ones who throw lighter fluid on her flames, whether she likes it about herself or not.
A genuine affection for her rises up inside me, an attraction to her feisty, flawed, adorableness. And I suddenly can’t help smiling at her from ear to ear. To my surprise, she returns the gesture, flashingme the most genuine smile she’s graced me with since we chatted at the bar... and, just that fast, something passes between us. Respect. Understanding. Georgina knows I see through her hotheaded, drama-loving bullshit, and I know she sees through my button-pushing, keep-you-at-distance bullshit. We’re the same, Georgina and me. Two bullshitters, buried beneath hardened outer layers. Two people who recognize themselves in the other. At least, in this moment, it sure feels like we do.
In a distant part of the stadium, the crowd roars, signaling Red Card Riot has just walked onstage. And a few seconds after that, we hear the band launch into the first song of the night—an instantly recognizable, global smash off their second album called “Ready or Not.”
“Well, that’s my cue,” Georgina says, popping off the couch. “Good chat, Mr. Rivers. When I get back from touring with RCR at the end of the week, I’ll call to schedule your interview.”
“Sit down, Georgina.”
She freezes.
“I said sit the fuckdown. You’re not going on tour, and we’re not even close to finished with our little chat.”
22
REED
Georgina sits back down on the couch, looking like a petulant teenager who’s just been grounded from going to a concert with her girlfriends. “Come on, Reed. This tour is my best chance to get an amazing interview out of C-Bomb.”
