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55 | Henry
I CAN’T BELIEVE the most beautiful woman in the world loves me back.
Georgia’s damp curls fall across her shoulder as she dresses beside me, her tanned skin glowing in the warm light of the locker room.
“Do you have any lotion?” she asks, forcing me to break my gaze from her perfect tits.
How is it possible that I’m still horny? God, this girl drives me insane.
“Y-Yeah,” I stammer before clearing my throat. “In my locker. One sec.”
I swing open the metal door haphazardly, my gaze still half-glued to Georgia’s naked body, when something colorful catches my attention.
“Wait, what the fuck?”
“What is it?”
Georgia’s brow furrows in concern as she steps towards my locker, craning her neck to see inside.
“Oh,” she remarks pleasantly. “They’re just flowers. Who are they from?”
“I have no clue…”
Who the fuck would put a bouquet of flowers in my locker? I swear to God, if Natalia came in here–
“It’s from your mom. There’s a note.”
Georgia holds up a small card she plucked from the back of the bouquet. My mom’s familiar handwriting decorates the outside of the miniature envelope, and I groan.
“I told her I wanted nothing to do with her.”
“Just read it, baby,” Georgia coos, her voice gentle and reassuring.
“What does it say?” Georgia asks hesitantly.
Her big, green eyes look up at me, analyzing my reaction. An expression of worry flashes across her face when I don’t immediately answer, and my heart pangs at the idea of Georgia being upset.
“I’ll explain, I promise,” I assure her, hastily shoveling my things into my muddy duffle bag. “But Georgia, I need to go to my Mom’s house in Dallas. Tonight. Will you please come with me? I can’t do this alone.”
“Of course I will, Henry… I’d do anything for you.”
The drive to Mom’s house from University Station is almost 4 hours, and I know it’ll be past midnight when we arrive there. Georgia is mortified that she’ll be meeting my mother for the first time with undone hair and messy makeup, but I can’t see why.
She always looks perfect. Not even rough shower sex can take that away.
“So, can we talk about the note? Only if you’re okay with it.”
She raises her palms out in front of her, as if to say that she won’t pressure me to talk if I don’t want to. I sigh slightly – not at her, but at the idea of talking about my mom.
“She wrote that my father would be proud of me.”
“Oh.” She pauses, a quizzical look on her face. “And that’s bad because?”
“Because she has no right to say that. After everything she did to us… how the fuck can she still think she speaks for him? She hasn’t mentioned that man since the day he died and, now that I’ve cut her out, she acts like she’s some grieving widow and not a homewrecker that destroyed our family.”
“Whoa,” Georgia utters, just above a whisper.
“Sorry, baby. It just gets me so heated. I lose my cool when I talk about it, but I don’t mean to take it out on you. I need to get better about that–”
