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“Georgie,” he says quietly, his hold at my hip wide and warm. Relaxed but not going anywhere.
Georgie.
I blink up at him, the blood rushing to my head as I step back from his hold. From that easy familiarity he sometimes falls into.
He doesn’t remember me. He’s never given me a second to believe otherwise. But hearing him call me that again…
I search his eyes for recognition, fear and nerves wrestling inside me. Because as mad as it made me that he doesn’t know who I am—I’ve come to appreciate it was the best possible scenario come to life. My secret is safe. I’ll never have to see the look in his eyes when he realizes who I am or what happened back then. I’ll never have to know whether he’d feel sorry for me, laugh, or—
“Did I hurt you?” There’s a tinge to his dirty cheekbones and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking.”
I take a breath, and seeing that my hand is resting on the bare skin of his abs, I snatch it back. The tips of my fingers tingle from where they made contact, from how good it feels to be this close to him—and I hate it. Like I hate how bad it feels to have to admit that he still affects me. That no matter what kind of bastard he was to me when we first met, somehow that imprint of first love, no matter how wrong or foolish it was, won’t go away.
“You can’t hurt me at all. And don’t call me Georgie.” Not when I still wake up to the echoed whisper of it every now and then.
Having the fresh reminder of how it sounds on his lips is the dead last thing I need.
* * *
Quinn
Georgepushes past me,her cheeks on fire as she flees down the hall and out the back door.
My heart is still slamming beneath that spot where her hair brushed against my chest—like every fucking fantasy I’ve had about this girl since the night I met her. Okay, and possibly longer than that.
The red hair.
Shit, it’s my kryptonite. Though before I met George, the hair in my dirty, faceless fantasies was always long. Spilling over my pillow or around my face, tickling a path down my shoulders, chest and abs.
But now, there’s nothing nameless or faceless about the fantasies assaulting me on the regular for the past seven months. It’s George. Her fiery eyes, heavy-lidded as she peers up at me through russet lashes. Her always full lips, kiss swollen and parted as she watches me. You’d think I’d still be giving her the long hair since it’s one of those deep-rooted kinks, but from the day I met her the hair was suddenly a short spill of wild waves, not quite falling to her shoulders.
But no matter the length, I always see it against my chest. I always touch it but end up with this frustrated sense that I’m missing something.
Now I know what those wild waves feel like against my skin. And it was enough to knock the breath out of me and have me fighting the boner of the century while I stood there like an ass in front of the girl I want so bad it hurts.
Fisting the towel at my side, I step back into the laundry room and pull my shit out of the washer, grateful I hadn’t known how to start the thing.
Because now that George isn’t standing two inches in front of me, and there’s no chance of coming off as an even bigger dick than she already thinks I am, I’m hard as a post.
Okay, and not just because of the cheap feel I got off her hair when she plowed into me, but because of the way she reacted when she noticed I wasn’t wearing a shirt.
That wasn’t disgust in her eyes.
Not even close.
That was heat. And now that I realize she’s not completely immune to me, I need to get the hell out of my buddy’s place. Because no way am I going to make it through a shower in his guest bathroom without thinking about that look in her eyes. The one so close to my fantasies it fucking hurts.
Shoving my arms and legs into my soaked clothes, I hop back down the hall to the spare room. Turn off the shower and grab my phone to fire off a text.
Raincheck on the movie. Something came up.
Chapter 6
George
Ican’t peddle fast enough. Quinn O’Brian has a hold on me, and I’ll never be able to shake it. I cut through the city streets, just wanting to get away. But all I can think about is what it was like to be that close to him.
What it had been like when we were that close before. How my heart nearly burst out of my chest when he leaned in and, after hours of waiting for it, finally kissed me.
