“There is a God.”
She cues up a thumping playlist, barks at me to gear my bike up to twenty-two, and then proceeds to lead me in a solid hour’s worth oftorturous sprints and savage climbs and relentless anaerobic drills that leave us both gulping for air and dripping with sweat. Well, correction: we’re both dripping with sweat, but I’m the only one gulping for air. Somehow, Georgina’s not only performing every drill and maneuver alongside me, she’salsobarking nonstop orders at me in a clear, smooth voice—something I couldn’t pull off right now, if I tried.
Finally, Georgina declares our private spin class over, and I crumple over my handlebars in relief.
She giggles. “Wimp.”
“You’re the devil... The devil with perfect tits.”
She laughs. “Of course the devil has perfect tits. How else do you think she gets stupid mortals to sell their souls to her? Now, pedal at a ten for a few minutes to get your heart rate down, Old Man. And then I’ll lead you through some stretching on the floor.”
Gratefully, I gear down as instructed, and slow my pedaling to an easy, cool-down pace.
“Seriously impressive, Georgie.”
“Back at you. You kept up with me the whole time.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’talsobarking orders the whole time. I’m only the Fred Astaire of spin. You’re the Ginger Rogers.”
She looks at me blankly, and, immediately, I know she’s as clueless about Fred and Ginger as she was about Bobby Fischer.
I flick the end of my towel at her in mock annoyance. “Are youtryingto constantly remind me how young you are?”
“No. Just how old you are.”
I laugh. “Would it kill you tooccasionallyknow one of my pop culture references?”
“Would it kill you tooccasionallymake a pop culture reference that someone under fifty would know?”
“Everyone knows about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They’re way before my time, too. They’ve transcended their era to become cultural icons. You should know about them for your writing.”
“Okay, Obi Wan Kenobi. Educate me.”
I give Georgina a quick primer on Fred and Ginger as we continue pedaling slowly, including the fact that, in modern times, Ginger is generally credited with being the bigger badass of the duo. “And you want to knowwhyeveryone says Ginger was the bigger badass?” I pausefor effect. “Because Ginger did everything Fred did... only backwards and in high heels.”
Georgina laughs uproariously, without holding back in the slightest. And that’s when I know she’s truly ready to move on from the crushing disappointment of last night. Yeah, I’m sure she’s still hugely disappointed things didn’t work out the way she’d hoped, simply because she loves her stepsister and wants the world for her. But thanks to the belly laugh Georgina is gracing me with, I know for certain she’s ready to put last night’s fiasco behind us. And I couldn’t be more relieved about it.
After a little more chatting, Georgie orders me off my bike, and begins leading me in some stretches on the floor. But a few minutes in, as Georgie is leaning over one of her legs, she shocks the hell out of me by whispering three little words I never expected to drop from her sultry mouth in a million years.
“I’m sorry, Reed.”
At the sound of her whispered apology, I don’t flinch, even though I feel like I need the crash cart. “Sorry, did you say something?”
She clears her throat. Exhales. “I said I’m sorry. About last night. For how emotional I was.” She winces. “And for flipping you off.”
“It’s okay. I kinda like it when you flip me off.”
She leans against her bike. “I couldn’t sleep last night for hours after I came back up from the pool, so I had plenty of time to think. And I realized you gave me your honest, professional opinion. And no matter how wrong and stupid it was, I should have respected it.” She shrugs. “I had a tantrum. Plain and simple. And I’m sorry.”
Holy shit. Who the hell is this humble, contrite woman before me? I don’t recognize her, except for the part where she called my opinion wrong and stupid. Whoever she is, she’s making my heart squeeze, every bit as much as the fiery, tempestuous, bird-flipping version of her makes my pulse race.
“I understand why you got so emotional,” I say. “You love your stepsister and want the best for her. Plus, obviously, your feelings regarding Alessandra are tied up with your feelings about other things, too.” I touch her shoulder. “I’m deeply sorry about your mother, Georgie.”
“Thank you.” She pauses. “Honestly, until I started melting down like a lunatic last night, I didn’t even realize how interconnected certain things are inside me. But, regardless, I shouldn’t have freaked out on you.That was crazy-pants and bananas and unfair to you, and I promise I’ll try never to do it again. No promises, but I really will try.”
Oh, my heart. “Hey, lose your fucking mind, if you need to, baby. Let your freak flag fly. I certainly didn’t help matters with some of my harsh word choices. When it comes to doling out my professional opinions, I’m used to being brutally honest, without a filter. But I should have appreciated the unique context a bit more. I’m sure it was confusing to you to have me turn into Business Reed on you, while we were lying in bed together in our underwear.”
She flashes me a crooked smile that tells me she appreciates my concession. “So, we’re good, then?”
