Page 37 of Taming Georgia

Mark nods with a look of complete adoration toward Georgia. “Yeah, I bet they could.”

I clear my throat. “I hate to break up the party, but we have some more deliveries to make.”

Georgia says good-bye to Stan and Mark and springs to her feet.

“We’ll see you soon,” I say to him before Georgia and I turn to head back to the truck.

“It’s really nice that you help the homeless in the community,” she tells me when we get back to the truck. “You don’t seem to judge them. That’s really cool.”

I don’t judge them? What is she talking about?

“Why would I judge them?” I ask gruffly.

“It’s nothing against you. Just society in general tends to look down on them, especially ones with dogs. I’ve known quite a few people in my life that do.”

I scoff with a roll of my eyes. “I bet you have.”

Georgia hops up into the cab of the truck and slams the door. She turns her body toward me. “Stop! Just stop!” she yells.

Her sudden change in tone catches me off guard.

“I’m sick of you treating me like I’m a horrible, stuck-up bitch. News flash: I’m not! I don’t know why you thought I was back in high school, and I definitely don’t understand why you think I am now. I’ve done nothing to give you ammunition for your made-up narrative. You don’t have a clue who I am because you’re too goddamn stubborn to open your eyes and actually get to know me.”

She closes her eyes and pulls in a deep breath. When she opens them again, they’re shiny, wet with tears that she’s too strong to allow to fall. It’s a gut punch, and I find myself feeling guilty for treating her so harshly.

She takes another breath and continues, “You know, when I saw that it was you who owned the shelter, my immediate reaction was one of dread. I’ll admit that all of the hate I felt for you for saying what you did in high school came to the surface. Maybe I was a little rude in the beginning, but I’ve tried to move past my feelings and to be kind to you whether I felt you deserved it or not because that’s what adults do. Yet you’re dead set on acting like a teenage boy with your rude attitude, throwing harsh remarks in whenever you can. I don’t deserve it. I work harder than anyone else that you actually pay.”

She throws her hands up in the air, her palms facing me. “You know what? If you want to fire me, then fire me. But do not treat me like shit. You will treat me with respect from now on. Are we clear?”

She glares at me, and damn it, she’s never looked more beautiful.

Shit.

I break from her stare and start the truck up.

As I’m backing up, she says, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you firing me?” Her words are drowning in attitude, and it takes me major self-control to keep my mouth from turning up into a smile.

“No, I’m not.”

How could I justify firing her? She’s right. She works harder than anyone else. She doesn’t ask for anything, including a paycheck. I am being an immature dick.

I hate that she’s right.

Maybe I had my reasons to hate her when we were young, but who doesn’t do or say stupid shit when they’re a teenager?

“Good.” She crosses her arms against her chest and sits back in the seat.

I steal a glance at her profile, and she’s so incredibly stunning without even trying. Her blonde hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder. She doesn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, yet her long lashes are dark and frame her deep blue eyes in the most indescribable way. The way she’s pouting now, with her lips out a little further, makes her normally irresistible lips even more so.

She deserves an olive branch, and so I throw her one. “My mom died when I was eighteen, right after high school graduation. The day she died, I found Cooper. He was in bad shape—real bad shape. I spent all of the money I had been saving for years to fix him. I continued to work hard after that, but there was always something unexpected to pay for, and eventually, I couldn’t keep up and was evicted. I had a backpack full of my things and Cooper. That was it. He and I were homeless for the better part of a year.”

I swallow hard. No one knows this part of my life but Ethel. I don’t dare look at Georgia, for fear of seeing pity in her eyes.

“It was hard, living on the streets. People look at you different, if they look at you at all. To most, it’s as if you don’t exist. It’s as if they actually see right through you. It was impossible to find work, and the few odd jobs I found paid just enough to feed me and Cooper. I hung out with some others who lived on the streets. Some of them were into drugs. I’d been around drugs my whole life, so it wasn’t new to me.”

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