Friction

by Jamie Magee

  Georgia bit her lip, glanced down, then up. “I like this. It feels…good.”

  He kept silent, his jaw clenching ever so subtly.

  “But we’ve started off crazy, and I don’t want to screw it up.” Just ask him, Georgia, she told herself when she felt the tension between them. “Look, I made plans last week before I knew, like, really knew about us, and I’m not sure if I need to cancel them, how weird that will make this.”

  “You’re asking me if you should cancel a date?” His tone was sharp as a knife, with a hint of pain.

  Georgia let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been looking forward to seeing Grace, having lunch with your mom for days, but I know that’s weird, that you might not want me around her until we, you know, figure us out, that it might not be a good idea for me to get attached to Grace.” She squirmed in her seat. “I should have talked to you about it yesterday, or even earlier today. I couldn’t figure out how to text it, but I’m supposed to meet them in, like, an hour. I can make up an excuse, though, if that’s what you want.”

  Easton’s heart rate had picked up and dropped, then did so again. Her words were filtering in his mind a second or two after she actually said them.

  When he finally figured out she’d asked him if it was okay to hang out with his family, he was rendered speechless.

  To answer, he leaned in the truck, put his hand around the back of her head, and pulled her to his lips, not caring he would catch hell for doing so when he walked back in.

  He kept his kiss as innocent as he could, with only a brush of the tongue and a gentle pull of her bottom lip as he pulled away. Then he leaned his forehead to hers, and let out a slow breath as he promised himself this was not some wacked dream he was going to wake up from.

  “Um,” Georgia said, panting slightly, “that means don’t cancel?”

  He laughed, kissing her forehead before leaning back. “I like knowing my girls are having a good afternoon, laughing somewhere.”

  His girls, she said in her thoughts as a warm shiver ran down her spine. Surely, he meant his mom and daughter, but she smiled anyway.

  “You need me to bring you anything?” She tapped the steering wheel. “I have the beast at my command.” That was what Memphis called his truck.

  Easton held a sultry smile as he shook his head and watched her put it in gear, absently wondering if there was anything she could do and not make it look absolutely sexy as hell.

  Memphis, along with everyone else, was trying to look like they were doing anything but staring down Easton and Georgia. Memphis wasn’t a gossiper, none of his guys were, for that matter, but most times you didn’t need some flowery words to get a point across; a good, hard look could say a lot.

  The boys were protective of Easton just because he was one of them, maybe a bit more because of his past. Memphis was protective of his sister, always had been; because she was his—so was the entire hall.

  None of them could figure out what was going on outside. One second they looked like a couple falling in love, the next like they were about to break up then the very next Easton was leaning in Memphis’s truck, kissing Georgia like he just proposed and she said yes. Friction. The good kind.

  Easton was even harder to read as he walked back in the garage, looking like he’d seen a ghost—either that or woke up from hell. Everyone was passing gazes back and forth, trying to figure out who was on deck to ask him what was up.

  “She wanted to know if I was good with her going to lunch with my daughter,” Easton said into the echo of the garage.

  Catcalls, teases, and ragging started then.

  ***

  Because she had to wait for the mattress and box spring to be delivered, Georgia asked Cynthia and Grace to have a picnic at her house.

  She had lunch made, put a sheet on the dining room floor when she heard Grace’s cry.

  Georgia looked out her screen door and saw Cynthia parking in her driveway, Grace bucking out of her car seat as Cynthia fumbled to get out of her own seatbelt. Grace stopped struggling the second she saw Georgia walk, or rather jog, up to the car. Grace’s eyes, glistening with tears, beamed into a smile as she reached her arms out for Georgia and squeezed her hands open and closed, asking her to come faster.

  The babbling, a mix of sounds that she called Georgia, was spilling from Grace’s lips.

  Georgia managed to get her harness off, which made her feel like she had defused a bomb, and she wiped Grace’s tears away before she picked her up.

  Cynthia was shaking her head with a wry smile on her face.

  “I have lunch,” Georgia said, quickly turning so Cynthia would follow her in and not see her blush.

  Cynthia ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the new paint in the house and the few things that Georgia had in there. It was so empty that it echoed every word.

  Just as they had lunch, the truck with her mattresses pulled up.

  The boys put her two purchases against the wall in the master bedroom.

  “Where do you want me to tell them to put the other things?” Cynthia had asked her.

  “That’s all I have.”

  Cynthia looked at her like she was insane.

  “I’m not good with money,” Georgia said, “meaning when I spend it, I hyperventilate. All I need is a mattress and Wi-Fi, which is supposed to be hooked up today.”

  “Anything else, Mrs. Armstrong?” the kid that had helped unload asked Georgia.

  Georgia shook her head no, but Cynthia pulled them away then came back to Georgia a second later. “You can say no, but I have an errand I need to run; should only take an hour. Can Grace stay with you? I can take her if not.”

  “I have to wait on the Wi-Fi guy anyway, so you’re good. Everything okay?”

  “I think it’s going to be. I’ll be back in just a bit.”

  When Easton texted her like he had been for days, that fire in her belly flamed all over again. Most of the conversations with him were a few short lines and screenshots, so when he asked her how lunch was she answered with an image.

  Grace was already in her arms, taking a juice cup break, so she snapped a shot of the two of them. She went to edit it, put some kind of tint over the image, but the way the sun hit Grace’s eyes, the smile on her face, Georgia knew she could not top that and sent the image to him, wondering if she should have cut herself out of it as soon as she hit send.

  She hated how much she was over thinking this. She really did.

  “That was your daddy,” she said to Grace as she tickled her side. Grace reached for the phone, put it to her ear, and started to babble like he was on the line and she had an important story to tell him.

  The expressions, the way she used her arms and would squat down then stand up when her voice went up or down had Georgia laughing so hard that her sides hurt. She even laid back across the floor. Grace walked over to her, handing her the phone, saying, “Da, Da,” as loud as she could. Grace had discovered that she liked her voice echoing in Georgia’s house.

  When Georgia looked up at the phone, which seemed massive in Grace’s hand, she read the text on the screen: I’ve fallen hard for you Georgia.

  Georgia shot up like lightning, which Grace thought was hilarious, but Georgia’s heart was beating too fast to play into that laugh.

  She toyed with the words for a second, all the while with a pounding heart, then went with: Sorry to break your heart but I have a crush on this guy that took me fishing in a creek once—kinda had a thing for him since I was six.

  Georgia tried to play with Grace for a few seconds and not stare at the phone like she was waiting on a response—one came instantly: twenty-seven hours forty-three minutes.

  ***

  The cable guy was somewhere under the house when she heard a car door slam and the rumble of another truck pulling up. Georgia scooped up Grace and went to investigate. Cynthia was back, and so was the delivery truck.

  “Figured out how to pay you back,” Cynthi
a said, walking up the steps to a confused Georgia.

  “What did you do?” Georgia asked, thinking the worst. She’s refused any payment from Cynthia from day one, saying the shoot was done as a favor to her grandmother, but Cynthia would not let it go.

  “I have a ‘hope’ storage unit,” Cynthia said. “I had to get a unit because my attic was full, but anyhow, I used to go to all these auctions and antique hunts. I did it for years as a hobby. I would sell a lot of it, but the pieces that were a bit eccentric or what have you, I kept. Put it all in storage because I knew the kids would need it one day.”

  Georgia was already turning her head from side to side, but Cynthia held a finger up. “Anyhow, Kate has champagne taste on a beer budget. Basically, she called it junk and told me to sell it, but I didn’t.”

  “Then it should go to Easton,” Georgia said.

  “There’s plenty for him, trust me. He’s not a fan of these pieces anyhow.”

  Cynthia pulled Georgia with Grace in her arms down the steps. “Now, you won’t hurt my feelings if you agree with Kate, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show you. As artistic as you are, maybe you could use some of it for your studio. I only brought a few things.”

  The boys slid up the back of the truck, and inside she saw iron bed frames, a dresser, a dining room table with chairs, a few mirrors, and boxes she could only guess what was in.

  “No way, I can’t accept this, Cynthia. This isn’t garage sale stuff. You could sell this.” And make a fortune, Georgia thought to herself.

  “I could sell it, then give you the money for it—I’m paying you back one way or another.” She pointed at her. “If you don’t like any of it, that’s one thing, but refusing it out of pride is different all together.”

  Reluctantly, Georgia nodded once.

  What Cynthia gave her was a wrought iron king size bed frame. At one time, it was painted a cream color, but age had chipped the paint, giving it a rusty aspect. It had been polished, then sealed. Cynthia had restored it.

  There was also a dresser, end tables, and lamps to match. So for the first time in her life, Georgia owned a house that had a room filled with her own furniture.

  She was also given a dining room table and chairs, another twin bed frame for one of the other bedrooms, mirrors, a few little eccentric accented pieces, all of it fitting the house, the colors Georgia had picked out to perfection.

  It was looking like a home by the time Cynthia and Grace left.

  Georgia wanted to stay there that night, but all her clothes were at Memphis’s. She actually had to pack, and by the time she did so, and stole a few minutes on the phone with Easton, she fell fast asleep.

  When she opened her eyes the next morning to the sound of Memphis’s clanging weights in the next room, all she could think about was how she was going out with Easton that night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I think I’m going to buy a new couch,” Memphis declared as he leaned in his bedroom doorway, petting Haven.

  “You love your couch.”

  “I might love another one, too. You want my old one?”

  She threw a playful glare over her shoulder, knowing what he was doing. She had already told him about what Cynthia did, asked him if it was weird considering the circumstances, and she received a shake of a head and a grunt in response. In Memphis language it meant: no.

  Memphis crossed his arms. “You have to let me buy you a housewarming gift. It’s a tradition or something.”

  “Whose? Not ours,” she joked.

  “Because I want to, and when I come over I want a couch to sit on.”

  “Even though I have no TV?” she shot back.

  “I have no idea how you’re going to survive without the sports channel,” he teased. “Couch,” he said again.

  “How about a plant?”

  “Only if it comes with a couch.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “This is really going to tick you off. Once you get a little settled, you need to have a barbeque party.”

  “Are you trying to give me a panic attack?”

  “No, I’m just telling you that you need to have a shindig for all the people who helped you with the house. I’ll cook. After that, you can fall into the role of town recluse.”

  “Hardy-har-har,” she said as her phone rang.

  She made a face, which Memphis picked up on right away. “What’s up?”

  “Unknown number again.”

  He waved his fingers, telling her to give it to him, then he answered in his deepest, most authoritative voice.

  “Hello? — No, but I’m Mr. Armstrong. What can I help you with?”

  Memphis listened for a second, looking as if he were ready to kill someone, then put them on hold and looked at Georgia.

  “Did you bail Hunter out?”

  “Out of what?”

  “Jail, apparently. They want to collect on a bond.”

  “I haven’t said anything to him beyond a ‘fuck you.’ The bond he had when I was with him was paid in full. Whatever that is, it’s bullshit. Wasn’t me.”

  Memphis got back on the phone and went back and forth with whomever, gave them the contact for the lawyer who had helped Georgia out last time Hunter had fouled up, and told them not to call her again.

  “What the hell?” Georgia said when he was done.

  “You need to make sure you don’t have any accounts open with him or anything. I’m sure he knows enough of your personal information to fake somethin’. Someone saying they were you bailed him out according to that wench on the phone.”

  Her past with Hunter was a clean break. She was sure, and told Memphis as much, saying the bondsman was running their mouth, stirring anger so they would give them a lead.

  When Memphis went to call his buddy who was a lawyer, Georgia did a little online stalking to see if she could figure out what was going on. All she surmised was what Sawyer had said—Hunter was arrested, for assault and possession.

  Figures.

  ***

  Easton wasn’t picking her up until nine-thirty so after Memphis got her things settled in her house and left, she unpacked her clothes, every one of them. It was liberating, not suffocating, so much so that she took the bags she’d hauled from city to city to her attic to store. Instead of having her cameras, laptop, and tablet by her bed or in it, she set them up in her office.

  Home.

  When she heard Easton’s truck, she turned out the lights and walked out to meet him there. He was walking up the steps as she was coming down, so they managed to be face to face.

  Still not completely understanding his equal pull and push mentality when it came her, she didn’t know if she should smile and walk down the steps, hug him, or kiss him.

  He made the decision when his hand pulled her gently against him, when his eyes sank into hers for the briefest of seconds before he covered her mouth with his. She melted in his arms, which only gave him reason to hold her tighter.

  Right as he felt himself losing control, he broke away, clearing his throat as she caught her breath.

  “We’ve done it now,” she said.

  He raised a brow to question her.

  “You just kissed me on my front porch, which is in this glorious small town; the rumors are going to be hot and heavy tomorrow—no hiding it now.”

  Easton had never really cared much for rumors, mainly because he paid them no mind. Instead, he just made a joke. “Front page news: Easton Ballantine managed to catch a fallen angel.”

  “Who pushed your Casanova button tonight?”

  He glanced over her. “Walls down tonight, Georgia.”

  “Are you telling me there was a romantic hiding behind all this tough-asshole-go-away kinda guy?”

  “Might be...you bring out parts of me I’ve never seen before.”

  “Same,” she said under her breath as he reached for her hand and guided her to his truck.

  There was a little Italian restaurant, family owned, a few blocks
away. Once they found a table tucked away in a dark corner, he tried to order her wine, but she shook it off.

  “Thought that was your drink?” he said, leaning back in his seat and appraising her so deeply she felt the urge to squirm, blush, move—something. It felt weird to be seen, really seen.

  “Still waters run deep,” she said to him.

  He tilted his head to question her.

  “I can never figure out what you’re thinking…”

  “Makes two of us.” He moved his chair around the circular table so he was against her, so his arm was across the back of her chair. Georgia’s pulse quickened, unabashed she crossed her legs so they would brush against his.

  He glanced down at how close they were then slowly up her body, finally finding her haunting blue gaze. “Memphis told me if I fired off questions at you, you’d shut down.”

  “My brother is giving you tips on me? Did you bribe him with pie?”

  “Do what?” he asked with a quiet laugh.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something, you’re blushing.”

  She looked up at him. “You remember the tree house.”

  He raised his brow, he surely did.

  “Well, apparently my grandmother and your mother saw us…and my grandmother did a little plotting to make sure we crossed paths again.”

  He leaned forward, clearly in shock, with an amused grin ghosting across his lips. “My mother was in on this?”

  “Sounds like my grandmother was the ringleader. She told Harley to ask me to come home for the wedding, Memphis to get you to dance with me, and Cynthia to ask me about taking Grace’s pictures.”

  He bit his bottom lip, as his gaze dipped over her beautiful face.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just thinking I should pick up some flowers for Grams, take her to lunch,” he said with a slow grin.

  “I’ll be sure to tell her so when she calls me first thing in the morning to ask how my dinner went.”

  “Keeping taps on her plotting?”

  Georgia nodded to the wait staff. “I’m betting they’re all paid spies.”