Page 43 of Beautiful Desire
Chuckling, I shrug. “Honestly, couldn’t tell ya. But I got in a gym sesh, went to the store, came home and showered, then was a little hungry and figured you might be as well once you woke up.”
Georgia nods and muses, “Ah, yes, to be twenty-four again.”
“You say that like you’re sixty.” I snort. “You’re notthatmuch older than me.”
“I’m old enough that it’s going to take approximately seven to ten business days to recover from the tequila I consumed last night.”
I glance over at her, brows pinched. “You didn’t even drink that much.”
“Fletcher, I’mthirty-nine.” She breathes out a small laugh. “Anything more than a couple glasses of wine these days gives me a headache the next morning.”
“That fucking sucks.” I snort.
“You laugh now, but just wait.” Padding across the linoleum, Georgia opens the cupboard beside the stove and grabs a coffee mug. As she walks away, I catch a whiff of her hair, heatspreading low in my groin at the smell. It hasn’t even been a full twelve hours since my cock was buried inside her, and I’m already dying to do it again. “Do you work today?” she asks, pulling me from my X-rated thoughts.
“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” I tease.
“Probably.” She shrugs and quirks a brow my way. “But I don’t, so just answer the question, smartass.”
My lips curl into a smirk as I shake my head. “Nah, I don’t. But I’m heading to the library in a few hours, if you need me to stop by there.”
“What are you working on there?”
“My capstone project,” I murmur.
She nods, walking over to the fridge and pulls out the fruit. “What’s your topic?”
Turning my head, I meet her curious gaze. “I’ve been toying with a few ideas, but I think I’ve settled on analyzing the feasibility of a new business venture,” I offer. “A secondary location for St. James Properties, to be exact.”
“What do you mean, youthink?” Grabbing the cutting board, she places it on top of the counter, then reaches for a knife from the block. “Wait, have you not started?”
Wincing at the question, a chuckle bubbles past my lips. “Nope, sure haven’t.”
“Fletcher, you’re supposed to graduate in a few months.” I can feel her gaze on the side of my head, but I don’t look. “How have you not even started your project yet?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I feel them heat as sweat pricks along the back of my neck. “I guess I’m just an irresponsible procrastinator,” I bite out. “Is that what you wanted to hear,Dad?”
The truth is, yes, it started as me procrastinating, but the longer I’m here, and the closer Georgia and I become, the more pressure I feel. The deal she made with my dad rides on memaking it through this program, and a huge part of that is this project. I need to do really fucking well; otherwise, I’m going to fuck up her whole life, and I don’t know… That’s a paralyzing feeling.
Rearing back, like I physically struck her, Georgia’s brows cinch as her gaze softens. “No, that’s…” Breathing out a sigh, she shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. It’s just, from experience, I know how time consuming those can be. Do you need some help?”
“Nah, I’m good. Save your pity help for somebody else.” The silence that falls over us is deafening, and a pang of something that feels a hell of a lot like guilt hits me in the gut. Heaving a sigh, I say, “I’m sorry, okay?”
“It’s fine,” Georgia murmurs as she brings the fruit over to the sink.
“No, it’s not,” I grit out. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, and I’m sorry. Look, I’m not a total idiot. I know I should’ve started this last semester, but it’s fucking daunting. Every single time I’ve sat down to work on it, I get so overwhelmed by how important this one single project is that I just…clam up and tell myself I’ll tackle it later.”
Back to me as she washes the strawberries, she huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, I get it.”
“Do you?” I snort, wanting to get off this topic as quickly as possible.
From the moment I met Georgia, she’s had this air about her, like everything she wants, she easily gets. No doubt or weight pressing down on her shoulders from an overbearing parent—a parent who expects perfection from their child, even though it kind of seems like they’re actually hoping for their failure. Not to mention, Georgia has this fierce, dominating energy, and the idea of being perceived by somebody of her caliber—someone who is effortlessly successful in everything they do—is terrifying.
Turning to face me, Georgia rests her hip against the side of the counter, peering over at me with pinched brows. “Yes, actually, Idoget it,” she pushes. “Grad school wasn’t a piece of cake for me either, Fletcher, and I’ve told you that.”
“Yeah?” Folding my arms over my chest, I cock my head to the side. “Why’s that? You finally going to give mesomethingabout you? Something that brings us to a more even playing field?”
Just like last time I tried asking something personal, Georgia tenses up, her jaw tight and her shoulders stiff. “We’re not talking about me right now.” Clearing her throat, she turns back to the sink. “All I’m saying is, I get the daunting feeling, but the longer you wait to start, the harder it’s going to be to get it done, and I’m here if you need someone to bounce ideas off of.”
