Page 13 of The Invitation
The idea of hooking up with one of Carys’s friends doesn’t really do anything for me. Sure, they’re all gorgeous, and I don’t doubt that I’d have a good time. But every time I’ve hung out with her circle, it’s been … boring. There’s nothing to talk about. No spark. Nothing that keeps me up at night.
I don’t know what it is that’s causing my dry spell, but I’m definitely in one. That’s concerning, but it’s even more concerning that I don’t really care.
“They’re not my type,” I say.
“Since when?”
“Since … now.”
He nods as if he’s deciding whether to worry about me.
“I know that sounds crazy,” I say. “But I just don’t vibe with that group. They’re great girls from what I can tell, but … maybe I’m getting old.”
“You’re thirty,” he deadpans.
I shrug.
“When was the last time you had a date?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve seen a few women here and there. It’s not like I’ve vowed celibacy or anything.”
“When was your last steady girlfriend?”
“The end of last year, I think.”
He watches me pointedly.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” I say with a sigh. “But I’m just … I’m tired of dating. I’m tired of trying to convince someone that I’m worthy of their time. I’m sick of the entire song and dance of spending time with someone I don’t care about when I could be alone doing something I love.”
“Like what?”
“Hanging out with Waffles, taking him to the pet store for new puppy toys.”
Tate laughs. “I can’t with you.” He glances at his phone again and sighs. “Okay, I need to go. I haven’t even been home yet and am on the verge of crashing.”
“Get out of here. I’ll get the check.”
He stands and clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Ripley. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And I’ll send you that email as soon as I get home. I don’t have my work email on my phone.”
“No worries.”
He gives my shoulder a final pat before heading for the door.
I settle back in my chair and drink the rest of my beer, taking in the scene around me. The Swill has gotten busier since I arrived. Nearly every table is filled. The music is louder than before, and the customer base has changed from businesslike patronage to a more relaxed crowd.
Georgia’s purple boots would fit in perfectly now.
I rub my forehead, wincing at the start of a headache.
The day has been long and busy, starting well before sunrise and going full speed until I walked into The Swill. Meeting Tate here was the last thing I wanted to do this evening … until I saw Georgia. Dealing with her is always the last thing on my wish list.
Flames lick inside my stomach, still smoldering from the fire Georgia lights when she’s around. I exhale in a futile attempt at recentering myself.
I hate that she affects me this way. After all these years, I should be able to manage my reactions to her. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve avoided her. Ignored her. I’ve even reminded myself that reacting to her taunts and glares is exactly what she wants, and by doing that, I only bolster her life choices—mainly to piss me off.
Yet I can’t.
I’m caught on this decade-long roller coaster with Georgia Hayes and can’t get off.
