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Every word out of her mouth has been music to my ears. And to my cock. And not a huge surprise, to be honest. Of course, Georgina sincerely wanted to fuck me that night—for all the reasons she just set forth. She’s a journalism student, after all, not an aspiring starlet—a whole different breed of woman than the ones I’m used to encountering. Plus, even the best actress in the world couldn’t have faked Georgina’s reaction when we kissed. The way she bucked and jolted into me, and then kissed me back with a passion that took my breath away—like she was drowning and I was oxygen. Or, fuck, maybe it was the other way around, and she was the oxygen. Either way, Georgina’s passion that night reflected back to me everything I was feeling in that moment—like every atom in my body had been doused in lighter fluid, and then set ablaze by the torch that was Georgina Ricci.
Which is probably why... maybe... now that I’m thinking about it... I reacted the way I did when I first found out about the demo. For a split-second there, I irrationally thought maybe Georgina had been the world’s best actress, and that she’d played me expertly the whole time, even during our nuclear-bomb of a kiss. And I didn’t like how that made me feel. But now... now that I’ve had time to process and reflect, now that I’m seeing the earnestness in her eyes, I know for certain she’s telling me the truth. Of course, she is. Which means I really was an asshole that night. But realizing I was an asshole doesn’t mean she wasn’t one, too. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m inclined to let her off the hook. Not yet, anyway.
“So, you expect me to believe it was pure coincidence you had your stepsister’s music demo in your pocket that night?” I ask.
Georgina rolls her eyes. “Will you stop being a stubborn dickhead for a second and just listen to me? Holy hell, you’re even more stubborn than me.”
I bite back a smile.
“I’d never heard of you before the event. On my walk there, Alessandra told me about you during a phone call. So, because I love my stepsister, and always want her dreams to come true, I loaded a flash drive with her best songs the minute I got to the lecture hall, just in case the chance to hand it to you fell into my lap. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing for someone you love? God, I hope so... or else you’re an even bigger dickhead than I think you are.”
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 I also hoping 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 ran concurrently with 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. But also because of some other motivations that run concurrently with 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?”
