by Maria Geraci
She should wait until they were alone. She really didn’t want to blab about her personal life in front of a bunch of strangers.
“Okay, I came down here because I’m mad at Spencer.”
Shit. Why had she said that?
“Who’s Spencer?” someone asked.
“Georgia’s fiancé, only he isn’t really her fiancé yet. Right?” said Pilar.
“Right.” She glanced around the room. All eyes were on her. Waiting for her to tell the story. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to tell them just a little. “We were celebrating our five-year anniversary last night at this French restaurant where we had our first date. It was really romantic. And I thought . . . I thought he was going to propose,” Georgia admitted.
“And he didn’t?” asked Liz, sounding breathless.
Georgia shook her head. “Instead of a ring, he gave me a Texas Instruments calculator.” Surprisingly, it felt good to finally say it out loud.
Shea gasped. “He gave you a calculator for your anniversary?”
“Yup. But in his defense it was top of the line.”
“Creep.”
“Bastard.”
“Asshole.”
Georgia nodded. She didn’t know who had said all that, but she definitely agreed. One hundred percent.
“That’s not the worst part. I was so angry, I lost it and gave Spencer an ultimatum,” she continued, feeling emboldened to go on. “I told him to shit or get off the pot.”
“Good for you!” shouted several of the Babes.
“What did he say?” asked Frida, looking worried.
Georgia eyed her margarita and thought about taking another sip. “He said he was constipated.”
“Moron.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Loser.”
“Don’t worry, honey, you can do better than this Spencer person,” said Liz.
“Yeah,” chimed in Kitty and Pilar.
Georgia had never spilled her guts like this before. It was actually quite . . . liberating. No wonder Frida liked these women so much. They were brilliant!
“The worst part is he’s also my boss.”
“Oh, no,” said Tina. “That’s not good.”
“I know,” said Georgia. “And there’s even a more worst part.” Was that even a sentence? She shrugged and continued. “He called me selfish on the phone.”
Frida sucked in a big breath. “He said you were selfish?”
Georgia nodded miserably.
“You need to call him right now and quit,” someone urged.
“That’s right,” said Pilar. “Fuck him and his job. You’re a Stanford grad! You can get a job anywhere.”
Pilar was right. Georgia had headhunters calling her all the time. What was she doing wasting her time at Moody Electronics?
“Where’s my purse?” she demanded.
“Thatta girl!” cried Pilar.
Someone shoved her purse in her lap. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in number one, Spencer’s speed-dial number.
This time he picked up. “I suppose you’re calling to apologize,” he said.
Apologize? Ha! “As a matter of fact,” she began, then burped. “Oops, sorry, that was an accident. No, I’m not calling to apologize.”
“Georgia, are you drunk?”
“No!”
“I think we should talk tomorrow.”
“Too late for talk.”
“You’re obviously not in the right state of mind. Is it that time of the month? Because I have to say, I’ve never really believed in all that PMS crap as an excuse for—”
“Fuck you, Spencer.”
There was a moment of dead silence. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said fuck you. Oh, and fuck your job too because I quit!”
She didn’t know if he responded or not, because the cheering in the background was deafening. Someone pulled the phone out of her hands. The Babes were now chanting her name. “Geor-gia! Geor-gia!”
Oh, hell. Why not? She turned to her sister. “I’ll flash if you’ll flash.”
Frida laughed. “You’re on.”
Frida went first. Up went the white T-shirt and off came the bra. Georgia hesitated only a second. She clumsily worked the buttons to her silk top. One of the buttons popped off and fell on the floor but she didn’t care. She’d worry about finding it later.
She snapped open the clasp to the front of her bra and flashed the room. “Take that, Spencer Moody!” she cried.
The Babes were laughing so hard, a couple of them fell out of their chairs.
A noise from the foyer drew her attention.
She glanced over to see a tall, brown-haired man with green eyes staring straight at her. Or rather, staring straight at her boobs. His gaze slid to Frida, then back to her.
“You’re right,” Dave Hernandez said, breaking out into that same damn smile he’d given her just a few hours ago. “You and your sister look nothing alike.”
5
“Oh my God!” someone shrieked. Was that her? It couldn’t be. She never shrieked. But she did scramble to cover her breasts with her hands. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Bringing liquor reinforcements,” Dave said, “but I think we’re a little late, huh, Pappas?” He nudged the man next to him.
That’s when Georgia noticed he hadn’t arrived alone. Great. She hadn’t just flashed a complete stranger. She’d flashed two complete strangers. The other man was a little taller than Dave, with dark hair and dark eyes. The sardonic expression on his face gave nothing away.
Frida already had her shirt back in place. She didn’t seem nearly as upset as Georgia thought she should. Georgia pulled the edges of her silk top together trying to keep her breasts covered as she discreetly clasped her bra, but the damn thing was a lot easier to undo than hook back up. Obviously, it must have been designed by a man.
The guy with Dave turned out to be Steve Pappas, the hot new boyfriend of Kitty’s that Georgia had heard so much about. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Georgia had to agree with the description.
“Everyone,” Kitty said, in a loud voice that slurred, “This is Dave Hernandez, a good friend of Steve’s.”
Dave nodded to the group, but he never took his gaze off Georgia. She purposely ignored him as she began buttoning her blouse, but it wouldn’t come together properly. Then she remembered about the popped button. She dropped to her hands and knees to search the floor, causing her stomach to do a nosedive.
Shit. She’d have to be careful to avoid any more sudden movements.
“Can I help?” a male voice asked.
She looked up to see Dave Hernandez leering down at her.
“I’m looking for a button.”
He gave the floor a quick perusal. “Just buy another one and sew it on.”
Georgia narrowed her eyes at him. “For your information this is a three-hundred-dollar designer blouse, which means I can’t just go ‘buy’ another button. And I don’t sew.”
“You paid three hundred bucks for a shirt?”
Georgia decided to ignore him.
He inspected the floor more thoroughly. “This what you’re looking for?” He bent over and scooped up her missing button.
“Yes!” She carefully pocketed it. “Thanks.” She waited for him to move on, but he just stood there.
“Are we looking for something else? Maybe some other article of clothing?”
“In your dreams,” she muttered. Then, and only because she was so miserable she didn’t care, she added, “I’m trying to figure out a way to stand up without making the room spin.”
“Let me help you.” He squatted next to her and placed an arm around her waist, then slowly helped her straighten.
Instead of letting go, he kept hold of her, like he was afraid she’d fall down or something. “You can go away now,” she said, wiggling out of his reach. He seemed to find her statement funny. “Look, I’m just a little embarrassed, okay?”
“Embarrassed?” His smile deepened, causing two little grooves to pop out on the sides of his cheeks. “Darlin’, I’ve seen a fair share of breasts in my day, and believe me, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I didn’t say I was ashamed!” she said hotly. “But it just so happens that I’m a pre-engaged woman.”
“Pre-engaged? Is that like being promised? Like in high school?” The laughter in his voice made her want to hit him.
She glared at him instead. “At least I was pre-engaged. I just called Spencer—that’s my boyfriend—and told him to fuck off. Do you think that will make a difference?”
His brows shot up. “I’d say, yeah, the pre-engagement is definitely off.”
“Whatever,” she said miserably. “You should have knocked before you came barging in.”
“We did knock,” he said. “For like five minutes. We only came in because we heard screaming.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve seen Silence of the Lambs and I know how those guys operate.”
“Ha-ha. I guess you think you’re funny. Just because you’re Mr. Experience when it comes to women’s breasts doesn’t mean I’m any less embarrassed to know I’ve just flashed them to a virtual stranger.”
“I didn’t mean to imply I was that experienced,” Dave said, suddenly looking sheepish. “I grew up with five sisters and only two bathrooms in the house. That sort of gave me a leg up on most guys, you know?”
Before she could respond, Shea clapped her hands together to make an announcement. “I don’t feel so good. Maybe we should call it a night. But I don’t think anyone should drive home.”
“I think we should call our husbands to come get us,” said Brenda, looking dazed.
Women began scattering for their purses, looking for their cell phones.
Frida snapped her phone shut. “Ed isn’t picking up,” she told Georgia. “He must be painting. He never pays attention to anything else when he’s in his creative mode.”
“I’ll be happy to give you a lift,” Dave volunteered.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Frida asked, her eyes looking kind of slitty. When had Frida started looking like a cat?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Georgia.
“Why not? I’m a safe driver, remember?” He smiled. Geor gia supposed that was for her benefit.
She gave him a snarky smile back.
“I would appreciate a ride,” said Frida. “I don’t feel so good right now, either.”
Dave pointed to Georgia’s bare feet. “I hate to ask, but I assume you came here wearing shoes.”
She put her hand up to her forehead. “I know you think you’re being totally funny and charming, but I really don’t feel up to this.”
“Sorry.” He looked genuinely contrite, although it could have been an act. Either way Georgia didn’t care. She just wanted a big glass of water and her bed. “What kind of shoes are we looking for?” he asked.
“Lime green sandals,” she said, not bothering to elaborate on the description. Dave had probably never even heard of Manolo Blahnik.
She spied one of her sandals poking out beneath a card table. “I found one!” she yelled triumphantly, then instantly wished she hadn’t raised her voice. It only intensified the throbbing in her head. She carefully bent over to scoop it off the floor.
Dave studied the sandal in her hand, then poked around beneath the tables and folding chairs to produce its twin. “Now these,” he said, handing her the lime green silver-buckled sandal, “I can see paying seven hundred bucks for.”
Georgia blinked. “Two hundred and ninety-five on eBay, only used once by the original owner.”
He nodded. “Good deal.” Which left her both pleased and a little speechless. Even Spencer couldn’t tell the difference between a pair of Manolos and a cheap knockoff.
“And,” she whispered, “I didn’t pay three hundred dollars for this blouse either. I bought it at a consignment shop for forty bucks. Actually, I buy all my clothes either on consignment or on eBay. But don’t tell Spencer.”
Dave grinned.
Frida said her good-byes while Georgia made a point of seeking Shea out and thanking her. Tipsy or not, it was the polite thing to do.
They climbed into the front cab of Dave’s truck. It was a short, quiet ride back to the Bistro. Frida wanted to sit by the window so she could roll it down and stick her head out, which forced Georgia to sit in the middle, next to Dave. She couldn’t help but discreetly check him out. He wore khaki pants and a black short-sleeved polo shirt. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift. Her gaze kept drifting to the big silver watch around his wrist and to the muscles on his forearm and how they flexed a little whenever he shifted gears. The front cab wasn’t overly spacious, so every once in a while Dave’s arm would accidentally brush against her leg.
Georgia suddenly felt dizzy. She redirected the air-conditioning vent to hit her in the face.
He shot her a sideways glance. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
Dave parked his truck in the same spot it had been in this afternoon. He jumped out and opened the truck door for her and Frida, but it didn’t impress Georgia. If he was trying to make up for gawking at her breasts, he was going to have to do a lot better than that.
Frida unlocked the front door to the Bistro. She threw her purse on top of the counter like it was too heavy to carry. “Thanks for the ride. Come by any time for free coffee,” she mumbled dragging herself up the stairs.
Georgia was about to follow her, but before she knew it, Dave took her by the hand, pulled her against him, and kissed her.
6
She placed her hands against his chest to push him away, but the feel of hard muscle beneath his shirt brought back the dizzy rush she’d felt earlier in the truck. His bottom lip tugged gently, coaxing her to respond. Somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself to put a firm end to it. But it was just a kiss. And if Georgia were being honest, it felt sort of nice. Like being in a dream. What harm could one dreamy kiss do?
Even with her heels on, she had to stand on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. She thought her enthusiastic reaction would push him into using some tongue, but it didn’t. He kept it light. Just his lips over hers, the way she’d kissed in junior high—before she knew what French kissing was.
Only no eighth-grade boy had ever kissed her like this—soft and achingly slow. The tiny patch of hair beneath his lip tickled her skin. It wasn’t scratchy or irritating like she’d imagined it would be.
That last thought almost made her pull away.
When had she thought of kissing Dave Hernandez?
She drew him closer.
Forget her subconscious.
Forget the eighth-grade-boy analogy.
No one had ever kissed her like this.
Not even Spencer, the love of her life.
Spencer.
She’d forgotten all about him!
What was she doing? She was kissing a virtual stranger! Of course, Dave had seen her breasts, so they weren’t complete strangers, but still—she jerked away and broke off the kiss.
She realized about two seconds too late that she shouldn’t have done that. Because her stomach didn’t react well to the sudden movement. And that’s when it happened.
Georgia puked all over the floor.
“Whoa!” Dave jumped back in time to avert being christened.
“Oh, God,” Georgia muttered. She placed her hands on her knees and bent over, taking in large gulps of air. “I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never done that before. I’m . . . I’m sorry.” She gratefully felt him slide a chair behind her.
Dave found a glass behind the counter and filled it with tap water. “Drink this.”
“Thanks.” She gulped down some of the water.
“Better?”
“A little,” she lied.
He threw some dishrags over the mess on the
floor. She watched, cringing, out of the corner of her eye as he cleaned it up. He tossed the rags into the kitchen sink and opened the faucet to rinse them out.
Her head wasn’t spinning anymore. It was pounding. Like a blacksmith with a hammer. An evil, demented blacksmith. She thought this last part in Austin Powers speak, making her giggle. At least it kept her mind off her stomach, which surprisingly felt better now.
“Thanks for taking care of that,” she said with a weak wave of her hand over the floor.
“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that reaction from a kiss.”
“You deserved it. I’m drunk. At least, I think I’m drunk.”
“I didn’t think you were that drunk.”
She cradled her head in her hands. “I don’t know what was in those top-secret double-oh-seven margaritas, but I’m never going near one again.”
“If you want, I could make you my grandmother’s hangover recipe,” he said. “It’s sort of a hodgepodge of stuff—fried eggs, sausage, bread, tomatoes—”
Georgia cut him off with a moan. So much for her stomach feeling better.
He grinned. “Maybe not.”
Why had she drunk so much tonight?
She desperately tried to recall her exact conversation with Spencer. The ramifications of tonight’s impromptu phone call came crashing down. Spencer wouldn’t throw away five years because of one little spat. Would he? Georgia had always prided herself on thinking pragmatically, but she’d never been in this sort of situation before.
She needed some advice. Now.
“You’re a man, right?”
Dave quirked a brow up. “You want some proof?”
“No! Of course you’re a man.” She remembered the feel of his hard chest against her palms. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t a bit of a turn-on. But she didn’t want to see any part of his anatomy. Hard or not. “Yes, most definitely you’re a man.”
“Now that we have that out of the way,” he said dryly, “what’s your point?”
She bit her bottom lip. What was she going to ask him? “Oh, yeah, I remember now. I need your thoughts on something. That is, if you don’t mind?”
He slid into a chair across from her and stretched his long legs out, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m all yours.”
