Page 23 of Taming Georgia

Paige waves her hands. “Whatever the animal, this is serious, and we need to talk about it.”

London’s eyes dart to mine, and we both look at Paige, wondering what is going to come out of her mouth. One never can tell with her.

“What is up with your shirt, London?” Paige raises her eyebrows and puckers her lips, causing us to laugh.

“What?” London says through giggles.

“Um, it’s a turtleneck.”

“Paired with a short skirt,” London protests. “It’s cute. Plus, I’m married. I don’t need to look like a hooker. I’m not trying to attract anyone.”

“You’re married, not a nun. You’re not wearing a turtleneck, out clubbing. No way. I stomp my foot down on this.” Paige makes a show of hitting her foot against the wood floor.

“The expression isput your foot down, and my outfit’s fine. Right, George?” She expectantly looks to me.

“I mean, you look gorgeous. But you are wearing a turtleneck. If anything, you’re going to get hot.”

“See! It’s a no-go! Two against one.” Paige grabs London’s arm. “I have just the shirt for you. Come on.” She pulls her out of the room.

London emerges from Paige’s bedroom a minute later, wearing a tight silver tank top with a very low V-neck.

“Nice!” I tell her. “Makes your cleavage look amazing.”

London chuckles. “Because all anyone will be focusing on are my boobs in this shirt.”

“Yes! Exactly.” Paige nods. “You should text a pic to Loïc. He needs to see you in this outfit.”

We down the rest of our drinks before I pull out my phone to request an Uber.

“Are you sure this isn’t too revealing?” London asks me quietly.

“O-M-G, it’s fine,” Paige answers. “Come on, old maid. Our ride’s here.”

“You look amazing,” I tell her as we exit the house.

“I need to sit down!” I yell over the music. “My feet are killing me!”

I hobble over to an open table, followed by Paige and London. We give our drink orders to the server, and I take off my heels, rubbing my feet.

“Heels are the devil,” I groan.

“They really are,” London agrees.

“That’s why I wore black flip-flops,” Paige says.

“How is it that you are the fashion police when it comes to my shirt, but you’re wearing flip-flops?”

“A: because you were wearing a freaking turtleneck, and B: because if you’re dancing all night, you can’t be wearing heels. It’s common sense.”

“I hate you,” London tells Paige.

“I love you, too,” Paige says as she blows London a kiss.

“Here comes another one,” I say under my breath as a dude approaches our table.

“I got this.” London stands.

“Hey, boobs. Why do you think they’re all for you?” Paige asks her.

---