Page 48 of Any Luck at All

“If you have plans, don’t worry.” Georgie hurried over to the table and picked up her purse and phone. “I was just about to leave.”

“But the pizza hasn’t arrived yet,” River said with a hint of desperation in his voice. “Maisie and I are going to watch the movie version ofCats.” He grimaced and gave Georgie an apologetic look. “I lost a bet, but you’re more than welcome to stay. Isn’t that right, Maisie?”

“That’s right. I’ve heard it’s a rite of passage everyone has to experience before they turn thirty.”

Thirty? Did that mean River was only twenty-nine? He was hardly a child, but the age difference made Georgie feel like her interest in him was even more inappropriate. And that look on his friend’s face—he might want Georgie to stay, but it was very clear he was alone in that.

“I’m tired and not very hungry,” Georgie said, plastering on a smile, but it felt like it wasn’t lined up right. “I’ll see you tomorrow, River.” She headed straight for the door as Maisie stepped out of the way.

“Georgie!” he called after her.

She stopped at the threshold and turned back to face him. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

The look of defeat on his face made it clear he understood what she meant. And it nearly broke her.

This is for the best, she told herself. She had too much to lose if she let things develop between them.

But if that was true, why did she feel like she’d already lost?

Chapter Eighteen

“What. The. Actual. Hell?” Maisie said, her usual eloquent self, as soon as the door shut behind Georgie.

But he was still staring at that closed door, trying like hell not to think it was a metaphor for what had just happened between them. Georgie had kissed him. Twice. And somehow he’d still messed it up. Part of him—hell, all of him—wanted to run after her, to insist that they talk about this, but he’d told her it was her call, and it had to stay that way. Even if he’d never, ever felt this way about another woman.

The women in River’s life had always drifted in and out of it without much of a production, either from him or from them. A therapist would probably have plenty to say about that, given what his mother had done—Maisie had always said so, at least—but it had felt easier that way. For one thing, it had helped him avoid feeling like this.

“Hello,” Maisie said, waving Hops’s sandal in his face as the puppy danced about excitedly, “best friend freak-out here. What happened to taking the job and keeping it in your pants?”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Maisie, as you can see, my pants are very much on.”

She gave another wave of the sandal. “I hate to break it to you, but that didn’t look like a job interview, unless you were trying out for a position at Skin-a-max.”

“And I hate to break it toyou,” he said, forcing a smile, “but Hops has been humping that sandal for half the day.”

Her nose scrunched and she dropped it, only for Hops to gleefully hop onto it.

“So you’ve named him, huh? We’ll talk later about how that’s the first step toward accepting you’ve found one of your soul companions. In the meantime, I’d like answers.”

He headed to the couch and dropped down into the slightly worn cushions—and couldn’t help but think that if things had gone differently, Georgie might have been the one lowering down next to him. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with Maisie—it was just different.

Turning toward her, he saw she had on the same fierce look she wore when she went to pick up a trouble dog, theI’m not giving uplook. That look had saved him as many times as it had harassed him, and so he sighed again and said, “I’m falling for her, Maisie.”

He saw worry in her eyes, plus something else he couldn’t identify. It reminded him of the way she’d looked at him this morning. Like maybe she thought he was going to fall straight into his Lost Days again. “Look, I know it’s not the ideal situation, but I think she might feel the same way.”

“Tell me everything,” she said.

And so he did, playing up the whole situation with Lurch and Josie for laughs, not that it needed to be embellished. Midway through, the pizza arrived, and they carried slices to the couch on plates so he could continue the story.

“I take it they fired Josie?” she said, laughing so hard her body was bobbing with it. She set her plate down on the coffee table, and it was low enough to the floor that Hops immediately snagged her crust.

“Understandably,” he said. “Aunt Dottie talked to her this afternoon. You can give her a call. I’ll bet the puppies would like a bubble machine.”

“No way,” she guffawed, “she took it with her?”

“Nope, but my aunt personally dropped it off at her apartment.”

Another round of laughter.

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