Page 68 of The Invitation
My hands fall to my sides. My stomach knots into a tight ball.
I’ve never been a part of Georgia’s life, and she’s carried on just fine without me. She saw what a fuckup I can be years ago and made the right decision to freeze me out of her world.
She’s not wrong. My goal was—is?—to make her fall for me for the hell of it because I’m an asshole.
Who am I to even consider that her motivations might be different?I know better.
I’ve always known better.
And I need to remember that. No matter what.
Chapter Eighteen
Georgia
The bathroom mirroris foggy from my afternoon bath, so I grab a hand towel and wipe off the glass so I can see my reflection.
My hair is up in a towel, pulled away from my face, and there’s a rosiness to my cheeks. My lips are slightly swollen from the hot water. I look like I’ve been kissed.
I press my fingertips to my lips as butterflies take flight in my stomach—and I think about almost kissing him. Again.
“What is happening?” I whisper.
I’ve had so many thoughts rolling through my mind since my second date with Ripley.How is he so funny, thoughtful—sweet—when I know him to be the opposite?
The purple gloves. Taking me skating because I mentioned it over a decade ago. His promise not to let me fall.
This is the same man who would rather spit nails than speak to me most days.
What’s the difference now? The cameras?
The cameras weren’t in the parking lot.
“This is a mindfuck of exponential proportion,” I say, heading into my bedroom.
I get dressed quickly, my thoughts still with the blue-eyed monster.
If this were the real Ripley, would things be different between us? Would it change anything? Would it erase the hurt he’s caused me in the past?
“Two fake dates don’t change the behavior of a man for the last twelve years,” I say aloud. “Especially when it’s two fake dates with his actions being tracked by people outside of our friend group.”
My stomach drops.
I don’t know what I want. I’m not sure which result I want to be the answer.Do I want him to be the asshole he’s always been? Or do I want there to be more to him than a rich prick who thinks he’s better than me?
I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling, memories from a decade ago floating through my mind.
“You know he doesn’t really like you, right?” The blonde giggles, blowing a big pink bubble in my face. “There was a bet. He won. They’re all in the refreshment room laughing about you right now.”
“And he’s probably at home laughing at me right now, too,” I say on a sigh.
“Hey!” Sutton’s voice drifts through my townhouse. “Where are you?”
“Bed,” I shout back.
She bops around the corner. “Still?”
“Hey, unemployment has its perks.”
