Page 70 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
I was good.
Not entirely good—because I couldn’t stop myself from hovering my hand over the back of his neck like I had earlier. “This okay?” I confirmed.
“I already told you that you don’t have to ask,” George sighed, annoyed.
Permission granted, I closed a hand around his nape and gave it a tight squeeze.
He smelled fruity. No Versace today. Was it because I’d pointed it out and made him self-conscious? I hoped not. Either way, his scent was delicious. There was a sharp citrus note to it that reminded me of lemonade.
George melted incrementally, sinking into my grip as his lashes drifted shut.
It was leagues away from how relaxed he’d been in the car, sleepy and dazed—but I’d take it.
I’d take whatever he wanted to give me at this point.
Practice boyfriend or not.
The rest of the night went by in a blur. I helped George ensure his sleeping bag was bug-free, and we spent a good hour in our tent decompressing. Not that I really needed to, but every time I rose to go, he’d get this frantic look in his eyes, and I’d quickly sit back down and play it off like I hadn’t been about to leave at all.
June texted me a few times.
June
Soooo? How’s it going? Did you apologize? What happened?
We’d chatted a bit when I arrived, but it had mostly been logistics. I’d needed to set up my tent, and she’d given me hardly any time—considering she’d known all along that George and I would be “rooming” together. “Tenting” together?
Whatever.
Me
He accepted my pickles with grace.
June
!!!!
Me
Stop texting me. He’s right here and it’s rude.
June
Okay, okay.
Fine.
But you and I have a date tomorrow morning before the hike. I need to know everything.
Me
fine.
Second dinner was delicious. Potatoes in tin foil with mystery meat I was pretty sure was beef. He sat down at the table across from me with his family. June kept sending me sly looks, but was wise enough not to pry when we were within hearing distance.
Throughout the meal, Mrs. Milton asked George a plethora of questions. About his roommate, his cat, and about work. She seemed to be particularly interested in that. No doubt, so she could brag about him when she went back to work at the hair salon after the wedding had concluded.
With their freshly styled ’dos, the women in Chesterton would be returning home for the next six months with new “Golden Boy George” stories.
