Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
That something else is at play.
I know it’ll come out that things have substantially changed with me and Georgia sooner or later, but I don’t really know how to explain it without it seeming like we got trapped in a cabin and fucked. Because that’s not what it was. At all. And I don’t want to cheapen the story by miscommunicating it and painting it in the wrong light.
“What?” Tate asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Liar. What’s going on?” Tate asks, studying me.
I smile. “Tate, nothing is going on.”
Tate leans toward Gannon and points at me. “See that little grin? That cocky wobble? That means fuckery is afoot.”
“Really? What kind of fuckery?” Gannon asks.
“I don’t know.”
Gannon glances at me, and then back to Tate. “I have no idea why you think you know this.”
“It’s called context clues, Gannon,” Tate says, sighing. “How can you be the oldest kid out of six and run a multi-million-dollar operation and not know how to read people?”
“It’s simple. I hate people. I don’t care what they think or what they feel. I’m going to do what I want, and they can take it or leave it. Doesn’t matter to me. Their opinion isn’t going to change a damn thing, so why would I waste my time trying to decipher their opinions?”
I grin. “Suddenly, so much makes sense about you, Gan.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Don’t change the subject,” Tate says, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. He’s like a bloodhound on a trail. “Start talking.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Gannon settles in. “If I cared, which I do not, I’d start by considering what he’s been working on. Who he’s been dealing with? Where has he been in the last twenty-four hours—”
“Gannon, you’re a fucking genius!” Tate exclaims, bolting upright.
Oh, fuck. Here we go …
“Tate, before you get too carried away—”
“Do you know who he’s been spending time with?” Tate asks our brother. “And who he was with today in the storm?”
“Tate …” I warn.
“Let me check my notes and see who he was scheduled to be with today,” Gannon deadpans. “Come on, Tate. I have no fucking idea who he was with. Do you not listen to anything I say?”
“No.” Tate turns crisply to me and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Georgia.”
Waffles barks in the distance.
Her name is a sentence, a concept—an answer. I can’t dispute it. I don’t want to. But I do need to rein him in before he gets on the phone like an old spinster and tells the world.
“Let me explain,” I say.
“Yeah. Please do,” Tate says before turning to Gannon. “I’ve been waiting for this for years.”
Gannon is puzzled. “Should I know Georgia?”
“No,” Tate says. “She went to school with us and is best friends with Jeremiah’s fiancée, Sutton.”
“Okay,” Gannon says, nodding. “I remember her. I met them … somewhere recently.”
“Yes. We played golf against Jeremiah in the cancer charity tournament last weekend.”
He nods. “Right.”
“Anyway,” Tate says, forever the gossip, “Georgia and Ripley fight like cats and dogs.”
Gannon smirks.
“They once had an argument in the comment section of one of my Social posts. Totally stole all the attention from me,” Tate says, sticking me with a quick glare.
“The horror.” Gannon shakes his head. “So you and Georgia have a contentious relationship. Got it. Now what happened so I can move on with my life?”
They both look at me expectantly.
How do I say this correctly? Carefully? How do I put something into words that I don’t fully understand myself just yet?
“You fucked her,” Gannon says without a hint of emotion.
“It’s not like that.”
“What?” Tate’s jaw drops. “You fucked her?”
My temple throbs as I pin him to his seat with a look. “I did not fuck her.”
He leans back. Smart move.
“We were trapped in a cabin during the storm,” I say. “It gave us time to talk.”
“And fuck,” Gannon says.
“Gan, I don’t want to fight you, but I will.”
He smirks, the sonofabitch.
“We cleared the air about a lot of things,” I say. “It turns out that we just needed some time to get on the same page.”
“So you got on the same page?” Tate asks carefully.
“Yes.” I fire a look at Gannon not to interject. “We rehashed a lot of things, got to the bottom of a number of events and misunderstandings, and—”
“And you fucked.” Gannon shrugs. “We know where this is going, Ripley.”
“You know what? This is why I don’t invite you over much, Gannon. You’re an asshole.”
He grins. “Fine. Shoot the truth teller.”
“So the two of you are … what?” Tate asks. “Friends now?”
“With benefits, clearly,” Gannon says.
“Gannon, I swear to God I’m going to kill you,” I say.
He holds his hands in front of him as if he’s deferring to me—which we both know he’s not.
I get up from the table and walk to the pool. I snag Waffles’s ball out of the water and toss it across the yard. The sight of him chasing it with his tongue waggling out of the side of his mouth calms me down a little.