Page 37 of The Invitation
Georgia: Fine. Ground rules meeting tomorrow night at The Swill?
Me: Seven?
Georgia: Fine.
Me: Fine.
Georgia: You’re paying.
Me: Fine.
I almost expect her to textfineagain just to get in the last word, but she doesn’t.
Tate waltzes back into his office with a tennis ball, and Waffles jumps high, trying to take it from him.
“I promised Waffles I’d take him outside and throw the ball around,” Tate says.
“You hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.”
“All right. I’ll order a pizza and meet you outside.”
Tate opens the door to the back patio, nearly tripping over my dog, who is entirely too excited to go outside and play. I meander through Tate’s house and stare at my text exchange with Georgia.
“I imagine there will be some talking, touching—maybe a little kissing.”
My muscles tighten as I hear Tate’s voice repeatedly in my head.
“Touching—maybe a little kissing.”
A slow, mischievous smile slips across my lips.
I might have been wrong to focus on the inconvenience of this setup. Because this? This might just be a hell of a lot of fun.
Georgia Hayes is going down.
I chuckle.
Better keep that visual out of my head.
Chapter Ten
Ripley
The Swill iscalm when I walk in. I find a table in the back corner, nestled in the shadows, and sit with my back to the wall so I can watch for Georgia to arrive. I’m early—not only because I was anxious to get this over with but also because establishing oneself early is the best way to take control of a situation.
And God knows that won’t be easy with her.
I’ve contemplated this scenario all last night as well as today while I worked with a couple of athletes at the Arrows training facility. I’ve gone back and forth about how to approach this meeting. Do I go with the flow, feel her out, and adjust my game plan? Or do I come out swinging with my charm and wit and throw her off her game?
One thing is for sure: she won’t make a fool out of me. Again.
“Hey, there.” A woman with a name tag readingVanessaslides up to the table. “Can I get you something to drink, or are you waiting on someone?”
Vanessa is pretty with big brown eyes and curly blond hair. Her smile is friendly, too.
“I’m waiting for someone,” I say, noticing the wash of disappointment filter across her features. “But I’ll go ahead and order a whiskey neat for me and a lemon drop martini for my … friend.”
