Page 14 of The Invitation
We’re at the same parties. We celebrate the same birthdays. We go to the same weddings. Hell, we’re in the same fucking group text.
I can’t date women who wear perfume that reminds me of her. I stopped seeing a woman who worked with Georgia because she wouldn’t stop telling stories about their day. I returned a shirt my mother bought me for Christmas because it was purple—Georgia’s favorite color. I couldn’t wear it without seeing her stupid smug smile and knowing she’d like it, and I don’t need my days ruined over a shirt.
I hate that she gets so deep under my skin. I hate how damn stunning she is. After all these years, I should be able to manage my reactions to her.
She’s already ruined my life in so many ways.
I fucking hate her for it.
And that won’t be changing anytime soon.
Chapter Four
Georgia
“And then Eloiseacts like we don’t know what she was doing in Miami,” my mother says about her friend while peering over my shoulder. “Add more cheese.”
I unceremoniously drop another handful of shredded mozzarella onto the frozen pizza. “Better?”
“Better.” Mom kisses my cheek. “Anyway, Eloise comes waltzing into the club meeting with a glow you only get from one thing.”
“The Florida sun?”
“No.”
“You said she was in Miami.”
“There’s more than the sun in Miami, sweetheart.” She grins mischievously. “I’m talking about a hot twentysomething lifeguard who doesn’t need a pill to get it up.”
I chuckle, shoving the pizza into the preheated oven.
My mother was waiting in the driveway when I returned home from The Swill. She walked toward me with a bottle of wine in one hand and a frozen pizza in the other. And on herface? An unmistakable twinkle of forthcoming gossip. Did I feel like listening to her antics? Nope, not even a little bit. But she’s my mom, and she’s always welcome.
“You don’t know if that’s what she was doing or not,” I say. “Don’t spread rumors.”
“If I were getting laid by a college-aged lifeguard with a body made for sinning, I’d want people spreading rumors.”
Shaking my head, I refill our wineglasses.
“As a matter of fact, if I’m ever in that position, consider it your job to tell everyone you know,” she says. “Pretend it’s behind my back, though. I don’t want to look like I’m bragging. And if you aren’t sure about a detail, embellish.”
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, laughing.
“Oh, honey. We don’t have time to get into all that in one night.”
That’s for damn sure.
Our laughter follows us into the living room of my small townhome. The blinds are closed, creating a coziness that I crave. Nothing is better than curling up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket and watching a romantic comedy—preferably alone so no one talks while I watch the movie.
We get situated, Mom stretching across the couch and me tucking into my lavender papasan that’s seen better days.
“What did you do today?” I ask before taking a sip of wine.
“I worked at the consignment shop for a while this morning, then met the girls for Charity Club this evening.” Her eyes light up. “You should see this dress I snatched from the shop today. It’s so stinkin’ cute.”
“Why don’t you ever buy me the stuff you think is ‘stinkin’ cute’?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because I buy that stuff for me. Buy your own shit.”
