Bar Crawl(30)

“No,” Georgia huffed, “didn’t even sleep with her. They had dates and everything. Then this one,” she pointed to me with her thumb, “panicked.”

Bo and Ember eyed each other before Bo took a deep breath and spoke. “Panic…it never really works out in these kinds of situations.”

I rolled my eyes and swigged my beer. I knew that. I spent years watching Bo and Ember develop from an insta-love cliché to the real deal. There were some dicey f*cking moments between those two that had even me holding my breath. And panic, it seemed, was at the root of a lot of their misguided actions. While their story served my story well, as I wove it into different characters of my book, I couldn’t tell any of them that I’d been paying attention on that level. I stayed in character in the bar, and around all of my friends. It was too risky to let people in. At least, it had been. Georgia was the only one who knew about the book.

Besides Frankie.

I couldn’t get the look out of my head. The one of anger and confusion when I stumbled frantically out of her house that night two weeks before. The night I’d accused her of things she hadn’t done, all because everything was too real for me. It was the hurt that was most in focus. The downturn of her lips as she followed me helplessly down the stairs, marinating in the verbal attack I’d sent her way. She hadn’t deserved that, and I was too chicken to show my face to her again. It had been two whole weeks; I hadn’t seen her at a single show, and I hadn’t sought her out. Stalemate. Or coward.

“It’s fine,” Georgia said, apparently in the middle of a conversation I’d zoned out of. “With any luck, Frankie will show up tomorrow and you can all move on nicely.”

I turned my head to Georgia, already massively uncomfortable with the amount of attention my personal life was receiving this evening. Any other night, about any other girl, it was fine—standard even. Really, I just wanted to leave Frankie alone, even if she wasn’t there, because I’d been the perfect *. More than that, I respected Frankie way too much to have a discussion about her, or whatever us there was, without her present. I was tripping my way through this new territory I’d put myself in.

“What do you mean with any luck? Why, in God’s name, would she come? She doesn’t even know where—what did you do?” The slow, hysterically menacing grin on Georgia’s face—one only she could pull off—stopped my words.

“I invited her to the wedding,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Nice,” Ember stated flatly, sipping a Guinness.

“Uh oh,” Bo murmured under his breath.

“What?” Regan asked as he muscled his way into the conversation, kissing Georgia on the top of the head.

With my neck on fire, I fixed my eyes on Georgia’s. “I hate you,” I spit out in a tone I’d typically reserved for Georgia’s ex-boyfriends from high school.

As if on cue, Bo and Ember moved aside, pressing their backs against the bar—not saying a word—as I barreled through the now-vacant space and made my way to the back door, toward the freedom of the sand and water.

“Stay here,” I heard Georgia call over her shoulder, presumably to Regan.

Not wanting to break either of my hands—because twice is enough—I shoved them in my pockets and growled as I paced the sand. When I looked up after a few seconds, I saw Georgia standing on the back deck of the bar, which was littered with loud drunks. The skirt of her bright red dress whipped in the rather strong wind.

“Go away,” I snapped.

“Fuck off with that tone, CJ. Honestly.” Georgia sounded bored and irritated.

I stopped my lateral path and marched toward her, index finger out. Since she was standing in heels on the slightly raised deck, she was just eye-to-eye with me, given our severe height difference.

“No. You f*ck off.”

My vile tone garnered the attention of a nearby patron, who was outside drinking with his friends. He paced over to Georgia, eyeing me cautiously as he asked her if she was okay.

She waved her hand. “He’s a kitten. But thanks, seriously.” Turning her attention back to me, Georgia navigated the questionable stairs in her more questionable heels, and met me in the sand. The lunatic didn’t remove them, causing her to sink a little on the pointy black heels. “Listen here, Corbin,” she whispered violently, using my birth name, which meant she was dialed all the way up on the pissed-off meter. “You and I look out for each other. That’s what we do. Don’t you dare lose your shit on me now. Especially on the night before I marry the best man I’ve ever known. The guy you looked out for me with, the guy you saved me from walking away from.”

Georgia’s eyes were fierce and watery as she pressed her manicured index finger into my chest. “Don’t tell me you hate me. Ever again.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” I rolled my eyes. “Frankie is not Regan.”

Georgia threw her head back in a mocking chuckle. “You have no f*cking clue, do you? I feel bad for myself, honestly, if this is how pitiful I looked when Regan and I first started seeing each other. At least I have daddy issues to blame. And mommy ones, for that matter. What’s your excuse? Huh?” She put her hand flat on my chest and held it over my heart. “You afraid to grow up, Peter Pan? Afraid to actually love someone?”