Page 30 of Beautiful Desire
“Just because I don’t want to have my own kids doesn’t mean I hate all children,” she explains slowly, like she thinks I’m stupid. “I can both love kidsandnot want to have any of my own; those two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Yes, Georgia, I know that.” Heaving a sigh, I scrub a hand down my face. “I don’t want kids either, but I don’t know… I’ve just never had a woman agree with me on that stance, so it surprised me. That’s all.”
“Plenty of women don’t desire motherhood.” She snorts before adding, “But finding that out would require you to actually have conversations with these women instead of just fucking them quickly and leaving.”
Georgia’s tone is light and teasing, and she giggles when I flip her off. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, too. By the time our food gets brought out, the tension between us seems to have vanished, and the conversation as we eat is lighter and, dare I say it,enjoyable.
But then I notice a shift about halfway through.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine for barely a second before looking away. “Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong.” It’s impossible to miss the drastic change in her body language. “What is it?”
“I’m fine,” she persists, this time holding my gaze as if to prove she means it.
“You’re not fine, Georgia.” My voice is rough as I lean forward. “What’s wrong?”
Jaw tight, she watches me with a bored expression for a moment, and right when I think she’s not going to answer me, a harsh breath whooshes past her lips before she says, “My stomach started hurting, so can you hurry up and finish so we can get home?”
“You gotta take a shit or something?” I snort. “Pretty sure there’s a bathroom here for that.”
“No, Fletcher, I do not have to take a shit, but thank you for announcing that loud enough for the whole patio to hear.” Color splashes her cheeks. “Can we just…hurry up, please.”
I frown, lifting my gaze to find our server. As soon as he looks our way, I gesture for the check before reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. “Then what is it?”
“I’m fine,” she grits out. “And you don’t have to pay for mine.”
“Except you’re not fine.” Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering her, and I know I should drop it, but I can’t. I’m filled with this fierce need to know, and a simultaneous desire to make it right, and both are too strong to ignore. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “There’s nothing to help with. It’s a woman thing. And did you hear me? You don’t need to pay for mine.”
“Well, I am.” My brows pinch as I take in what she said, and after the server comes by and takes my debit card, I ask, “You mean your period?”
“Yes, Fletcher.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean my period.”
I’m no less confused, and I definitely need to shut my mouth, but of course, I don’t. “Okay, but why would that cause such a drastic change in your mood? Don’t you get those every month?”
If looks could kill, then Georgia would’ve already murdered me. “Yes, I get them every month, but since I have PCOS, mine are god awful, and I can always tell when it’s about to show up because I’m hit with the most horrendous cramps that make me feel like I’m going to pass out.”
“And that’s what just happened?” I ask. “The cramps?”
Georgia nods, her lips pressed in a thin line and her jaw tight, and it takes less than a second for me to realize something.
“I’m ordering an Uber.” Grabbing my phone, I pull up the app while I wait for the server to come back with my card.
“Why?” she snaps, like what I said personally offended her.
“Uh, because you don’t feel well?” I look up from the phone, confused by her reaction. “You don’t need to rollerblade back to your house when you’re in pain.”
It’s right there on the tip of her tongue to argue with me, but instead she remains quiet, because I’m sure she realizes it’s a good idea. I finish ordering the ride right as the server drops my card off, and by the time I sign the receipt and we make our way to the front of the building, the car is waiting for us.
On the short drive home, Georgia’s visibly uncomfortable. Her face is flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat lines her forehead. As soon as we get inside the house, she turns to me. “Thank you,” she says. “For lunch, and for the Uber. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no big deal, Peach.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. She holds my gaze, and it feels like electricity bouncing between us. My heart races, and my lips tingle as my eyes dip down and look at hers, remembering what it felt like kissing her and wanting to do it again. But then Georgia blinks, and the moment passes.
