Page 26 of Taming Georgia

“Well, when you subtract the asshole qualities from his looks, he’s ugly.”

“If you say so,” Paige says. “Though, from where I was sitting, asshole or not, he was fine as hell.”

“Oh my God, look!” London says to us as she motions toward the dance floor.

Wyatt is up on the dance floor stage, talking to the woman wearing the piece of fabric that barely covers her nipples.

My mouth falls open as I watch him grab her hand. He lifts her off the stage and then proceeds to leave with her in tow.

“Well, well, well…I guess hottie boss likes his ladies a little on the hooker side.” Paige smirks.

She and London begin chatting incessantly, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

All I can focus on is the fact that Wyatt just took that woman home. There’s an unease in the pit of my stomach that’s registering somewhere between jealousy and sadness—neither of which make sense.

I can’t possibly be jealous of that woman. I couldn’t care less who Wyatt screws in his free time. I definitely can’t be sad over Wyatt.

I hate him.

The despondent cloak of gloominess that’s covering me can’t have anything to do with him.Why would it?

These emotions don’t line up with the way I feel toward Wyatt. It’s all so confusing. Yet I’m feeling them just the same.

7

“Drugs have a way of robbing someone of the things they love. It’s a hell on earth that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”—Wyatt Gates

“French fries,” I say aloud. “Number one answer.”

Cooper cracks open one eye from my lap as if to tell me to keep it down.

The woman playing for Fast Money on the game showFamily Feudsays, “Onion rings.”

“Idiot, the number one thing people eat with a hamburger is French fries.”

Cooper grumbles.

“She just lost her family twenty thousand dollars, man,” I tell him, though Cooper doesn’t seem to be at all interested in marathoningFamily Feudwith me. “I know, dude…but there’s literally nothing else on.”

As soon as Carrie wakes up, I can take her into rehab. I don’t want to leave her here alone. I felt sick when I got the call from her last night, as she was clearly fucked out of her mind.

Carrie grew up in an apartment down the hall from me. She was an amazing soccer player and got a full ride scholarship to Eastern Michigan University because of it. The full ride was her ticket out of the poverty that had plagued her family for generations. Freshman year of college, she injured her knee and was prescribed pain pills. Unfortunately, that led to an addiction that she’s still fighting today.

She lost everything—her scholarship, her friends, her family. Drugs have a way of robbing someone of the things they love. It’s a hell on earth that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I know from experience that an addict won’t get clean unless they want it, and she does. Before last night, she’d been sober for over six months. I’ll never understand how someone can be clean for so long and then use again when they know what drugs will do to them. But I’ve never been an addict, so I’ve never felt the hold drugs can have on a person.

I’ve seen it too many times. Though I wish I hadn’t.

The host says, “Name a place you visit where you aren’t allowed to touch anything.”

“Museum,” I say out loud.Number one answer.

“Hi.” Carrie enters the living room. “Thanks for the shirt.” Her voice is rough and scratchy.

“You’re welcome. Thought it’d be more comfortable than what you had on. How are you feeling?” I pat the couch beside me.

She sits down.

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