Page 49 of Taming Georgia

I’m bitter. The Wyatt of today stole me away from the Wyatt of my dreams.

I don’t want the real Wyatt, the one who hates me, the one who will never see me as anything but a nuisance. I want the one who, for a small moment in time, kissed me in that study room like I was the only girl he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life.

I want those lips, that Wyatt, and that moment back.

Why am I still aching for something that happened so long ago?

I open my eyes to find his beautiful blues staring back at me, curious. His gaze makes me ache because I want him. As I’m fresh from my perfect dream, all of my emotions hover at the surface. Every bit of me wants every bit of him. I want his lips. I want his hands. I want his eyes to continue to look at me with anything but hate.

In this space, fresh from a memory and vulnerable, I can’t lie to myself.

I still want him.

He’s been cruel and vile…and I shouldn’t. I wish I didn’t. But I do.

I want him so badly, and part of me doesn’t even care that he doesn’t like me. If he’d have me, I’d take him anyway—just to feel those lips one more time.

My thoughts betray me, and I’m disappointed in myself. This isn’t me. I’m not weak. I don’t need a man’s touch to make me feel whole. I don’t need anyone.

I’ve kissed my share of guys, and no one has made me feel the way that Wyatt did. But it wasn’t real. I was young. I’ve built that kiss up in my head for so long. Of course, no kiss has come close since. Reality is never more satisfying than a dream.

I sit up. Resting my elbows on my knees, I hold my face in my hands.

“I’ve finished walking and feeding the dogs. I’m going to—why are you crying?” Wyatt asks, concerned.

I drag my fingers across my cheek, and they pick up wetness along the way.

I am crying.

I stand and wipe my tears from my face.

“What is it?” he asks, his hands on either side of my arms, holding me close.

“Careful,” I warn him. “One might think you care.” I put a hand on his side and gently push him away from me.

I’m just exhausted and emotional. I need to get out of here. I take a few steps away from him as I swipe the tears with the backs of my hands.

“Georgia, stop,” Wyatt demands, and for some reason, I comply. “I don’t understand,” he says from behind me.

I turn to face him. “I’m just tired, Wyatt.”

My hands drop to my sides, mirroring the defeat I feel in my heart. “I’m exhausted. I’m sick of pretending that the hatred you feel toward me doesn’t bother me when it does. I’m tired of working my ass off here just to feel emptier when I leave.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I no longer try to stop them. “I’m tired of going through life, trying to fill a void that a stupid boy caused with the words he said when I was just seventeen. And most of all, I’m tired of dreaming of that boy and desperately wanting him, only to wake and discover that he’s gone, and the reality is that he never existed in the first place.”

Wyatt just stares at me, his expression unreadable.

I throw my hands up in defeat. “I thought I was supposed to be here. I thought fate led me here for a reason. But I don’t know if I believe that anymore,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “I’ve spent my adult life chasing happiness, only to see you staring back at me when I close my eyes, reminding me that the only person I’ve ever loved didn’t even see me. I’m a good person, Wyatt. I know I am. I don’t need you to agree to make it true. I don’t need you to love me back to make me whole.”

Why am I talking about love? It’s only real in fairy tales, right?

I hold my hand to my chest and press in to relieve the pressure. “And I hate that, after everything, though I don’t need it, Iwantit. What’s wrong with me?” I ask, my voice soft and broken.

I shake my head and drop my chin to my chest.

“I need to go,” I sigh.

Scanning the room, I take everything in, except Wyatt. Looking for what, I’m not sure. Maybe a good-bye.

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