Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“We currently have no usable footage. Do you want to quit now?”
“How is that possible? We’ve been doing this for an hour.”
I take my backpack off and set it on the ground beside me.
This trail should’ve taken us an hour at most. I thought we’d do a little hiking, get video at the top for Myla, and then take a picnic down by the stream near where we parked the car. Instead, we’re two-thirds up and I’m not sure we’re going to ever make it the rest of the way.
“Let’s see …” I pretend to think. “How is it possible we’ve not gotten any film? Well, you drank all of your water in the first twenty minutes and started complaining.”
“It’s hot out here.”
“Then you had to stop and pee—twice.”
“Because of the water.”
I sigh. “You’ve complained about the pollen count, the number of rocks on the pathway, and that you think you pulled a muscle in your leg.”
“And the heat, the bugs, and that I have to walk all the way back down. What’s your point?”
“Good news. I can fix one of those problems.”
“Which one?”
“I’ll throw you over the cliff if we ever get to the top.”
She gasps, then bends down, picks up a rock, and tosses it at me. Naturally, it doesn’t come anywhere close to hitting me.
“You missed,” I say grinning.
“I can’t believe this is how you date women.”
“This isn’t how I date women. This is how I date you.”
She growls, making me laugh louder. She then trudges toward me, kicking dust up as she moves.
Her antics today should’ve been expected. I’ve known Georgia for over ten years, and I’ve never seen her do many outdoor activities—or any, actually. But our date challenge was an adventure, and I thought a simple beginner-level hike would be something we could do together while capturing a bunch of great footage for the show. It would also give us time to talk—something I never thought I’d want to do with her willingly and on purpose but was looking forward to … in a way.
Instead, I got a solid ten minutes of decent banter and a great view of Georgia’s juicy ass as she stumbled up the mountain. The rest of it is us bickering back and forth.
We managed to capture the “hellos” in the parking lot before we headed off, and then did what Georgia called “pre-confessionals” at the trailhead for fun. She thought it made it feel more like a date for the viewer. I didn’t disagree.
But that’s it. That’s the extent of what this day has delivered, which sucks because Georgia seemed to be truly excited about this at the start of the day. Now she’s … not.
The truly unexpected part of the whole thing, however, is that I find her grumpiness hot as fuck. Her jabs don’t feel as sharp as normal. They come across as more self-protective than anything, and that’s something I understand. That’s forgivable. That puts it through a whole new lens. It makes her snark less bitchy and more … witty. Weird.
“If it rains, I’m really going to be pissed,” Georgia says, marching past me.
I lug my backpack on and follow her.
“The forecast said no rain,” I say. “You’ll have to survive without being mad about that. I’m sure you can find something else to pout about.”
“I’m not pouting, Ripley. I’m just expressing my displeasure.” She whines, slowing her already sluggish pace. “I think I’m getting a blister.”
“I have bandages in my pack. I’ll give you one if you make it to the top.”
She narrows her eyes. “Give me one now and I won’t complain until we get to the top.”
“You’re not supposed to negotiate with terrorists.”
Her eyes shine as she looks up at me. She has a streak of dirt across her cheek, and I want to laugh, but she’ll think I’m laughing at her. In reality, I just think she’s adorable.
And that’s my biggest new problem with Georgia. I find her grating one minute, sexy the next, and adorable after that. I can’t make sense of her.
Or, rather, I can’t make sense of what I think about her.
It was much easier before The Invitation. I hated her. She hated me. Life was grand. But now we’ve spent alone time together while on our very best behavior, and I don’t think I quite hate her anymore.
In fact, I wonder if I ever really hated her at all.
Maybe what I hated was that she hated me.
“Fine,” I say, absorbing the plea in her eyes. “Sit.”
“Yay!” She plops down on a fallen tree and slides off her shoe and sock. She wiggles her purple-painted toenails. “Oh, my gosh, this feels good.”
My cock twitches. No. Don’t even go there.
“What do you have in that bag?” she asks as I rummage through it. “You’re like a grown-up Dora the Explorer with your backpack.”