I tilt my head. “Is she pretending well?”
“Hell no. It’s like watching a goat try to rollerblade through wet cement.”
I blink. That makes no sense. “What?”
“Exactly.”
I glance at my watch, then back toward Georgia through the restaurant window. She’s laughing with the server now—thank god—because now we may have company.
“I’m hiding in the bathroom and she’s in my apartment with Luca, waiting for me because I said I had to pee.” She giggles. “Where are you? Consider this a mini-ambush, you’re welcome in advance.”
I stuff a hand in the pocket of my jeans. “I’m with my sister—she had a breakup and she’s currently stuffing her face with nachos and margs at La Chica Picante.”
“Oooh, love that. Give us a bit and we’ll be there soon.”
I end the call and stand there.
Shit.
A mini-ambush? That’s how we’re doing this? I stare down at my cell, gut churning.
I gave her space. Gave her allll the space I thought she wanted. I didn’t text. Didn’t call. I even ignored her cryptic Instagram story about “reinventing herself” next to a photo of a smoothie and a candle that looked like it cost more than my truck payment.
But now?
Now she’s coming here?
I blow out a slow breath and scrub a hand over the back of my neck.
“Everything good?” Georgia asks, glancing up as I slide back into the booth. She’s got queso on her chin and her eyes are a little glassy from the strawberry margarita she’s been nursing like an IV drip.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “Nova is bringing Poppy here.”
Her face lights up like she just hit the breakup-revenge jackpot. “What!Oh my god, yes. This is great! This is exactly what I needed. Drama. Romance. Sexual tension. A possible parking lot make out.”
“Please stop.”
She grins. “No. I live for this shit.” Georgia waves her margarita glass in the air. “Relax. This is a good thing. She obviously misses you.”
“False. She’s being ambushed by her best friend.”
“That’s what friends are for.” My sister’s mood sours. “Unlike my friends—they all hated Blayke.” She drains the rest of her margarita. “I should’ve taken that as a sign, because anyone who changes the spelling of their own name is a walking red flag. Blayke with a Y isdeadto me.”
My brows arch.
“Anyway,” she chirps brightly, slapping her hands on the table as if she means business. “Enough aboutmytragic dating history. Let’s circle back toyours.”
“Hard pass.”
She ignores me. “So what’s your plan when she gets here?”
“To not throw up.”
“Good start. Then what? Are you going to beg her to come back? Kiss her?”
“No.”
“I want you toget your girl, Romeo. She misses you. I know it. You know it. Novadefinitelyknows it.”
