Page 25 of Beautiful Desire (Blossom Beach #3)

My pulse is nearly deafening as I swallow, attempting to bring back some of the moisture that left my mouth.

How is it possible that this cuts deeper than anything she’s said up until now?

It’s like she knows exactly what to say to get under my skin, and I’ve never met somebody like that before. It’s infuriating.

I release a laugh that lacks all humor. “Parents have to work, Georgia. That’s just how it is. Both of your parents have jobs, and if I’m not mistaken, they always have, so be careful throwing stones in a glass house.”

It’s not until we come to a stop in front of Taylor’s Grill that I realize how far we’ve gone.

I’ve been so worked up by the shit Georgia’s saying, I didn’t have time to worry about falling or if I was doing this right.

Going around the side of the restaurant, we find an open table on the back patio that overlooks the beach, and it’s not until we sit down that Georgia responds.

“There’s a very big difference between working hard for your family and straight up putting your career and success before them,” she murmurs, glancing over the menu in front of her.

“And you’re right, my parents have always worked, and there were definitely times when they had to miss out on stuff because they couldn’t get the time off, but they were there when it mattered the most.”

Flicking her gaze up to meet mine, she continues.

“Fletcher, your father tossed money and expensive things your way to make up for his physical and emotional absence, and you deserved better. And to be fair, none of that was your fault. You were just a kid who didn’t know any better, but you’re not a kid anymore.

Ignorance isn’t cute, and neither is this entitled mentality you have because of him. ”

Georgia’s features are relaxed, her eyes soft as they hold mine.

Looking at her, digesting what she’s saying, I know she isn’t trying to be cruel.

And the worst part is, she’s right. I know she is.

My dad was an absent parent. Despite living in the same house as me, despite feeding me and making sure I had everything I needed materialistically, he wasn’t there like he should have been.

But knowing that doesn’t make me any less pissed off, doesn’t make it sting any less.

“So, you think you’re going to be the perfect parent one day?

You’ll quit working so much, and never miss a single thing because you’re just so fucking perfect?

” I scoff. “You’re not all that different from me, Georgia.

You may not have a trust fund, but you’re just as ambitious as I am, just as dedicated to the climb, and you know damn well, you want the success and the money, just like I do.

So, get fucked with all that high-and-mighty bullshit. We are not that different.”

A smirk tugs on the corner of her mouth as she sits back in her chair, watching me with an expression I can’t decipher.

It almost looks like a mix between smug and…

proud. Our server comes over to take our orders before Georgia can say anything, but as soon as he walks away, her attention is back on me.

“You’re right, I am ambitious, hardworking, and career focused,” she quips, the grin on her face growing.

“But you know what? If I wanted to have kids, I could still be all of those while being a decent parent who taught her kids the important things in life, like empathy, humility, discipline, and the value of a dollar. I could be a strong, successful, goal-driven businesswoman like I am now, and still be present.”

One part sticks out in my mind. “If?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to have kids?”

Shaking her head, she replies, “No, I don’t.”

“Like, you can’t have kids?” The question rolls off my tongue before I even realize it, but that surprises me, for some reason.

Georgia huffs a breath through her nose, gaze hard and narrowed on me.

“It’s so funny to me how when a man says he doesn’t want to have kids, that’s the end of it—there’s no question about his ability —but when a woman expresses the exact same thing, it must mean she’s barren.

Do you hear the misogyny in that, or do you just not care? ”

“What?” Confusion furrows my brow as I replay what I said, but then, a moment later, it clicks.

“No, that’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.

You seem to like kids, given the way you started rollerblading again for your niece, so it’s not that far-fetched to assume you’d want some of your own one day. ”

“Just because I don’t want to have my own kids doesn’t mean I hate all children,” she explains slowly, like she thinks I’m stupid. “I can both love kids and not want to have any of my own; those two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Yes, Georgia, I know that.” Heaving a sigh, I scrub a hand down my face. “I don’t want kids either, but I don’t know… I’ve just never had a woman agree with me on that stance, so it surprised me. That’s all.”

“Plenty of women don’t desire motherhood.” She snorts before adding, “But finding that out would require you to actually have conversations with these women instead of just fucking them quickly and leaving.”

Georgia’s tone is light and teasing, and she giggles when I flip her off. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, too. By the time our food gets brought out, the tension between us seems to have vanished, and the conversation as we eat is lighter and, dare I say it, enjoyable .

But then I notice a shift about halfway through.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes flick up to meet mine for barely a second before looking away. “Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong.” It’s impossible to miss the drastic change in her body language. “What is it?”

“I’m fine,” she persists, this time holding my gaze as if to prove she means it.

“You’re not fine, Georgia.” My voice is rough as I lean forward. “What’s wrong?”

Jaw tight, she watches me with a bored expression for a moment, and right when I think she’s not going to answer me, a harsh breath whooshes past her lips before she says, “My stomach started hurting, so can you hurry up and finish so we can get home?”

“You gotta take a shit or something?” I snort. “Pretty sure there’s a bathroom here for that.”

“No, Fletcher, I do not have to take a shit, but thank you for announcing that loud enough for the whole patio to hear.” Color splashes her cheeks. “Can we just…hurry up, please.”

I frown, lifting my gaze to find our server. As soon as he looks our way, I gesture for the check before reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. “Then what is it?”

“I’m fine,” she grits out. “And you don’t have to pay for mine.”

“Except you’re not fine.” Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering her, and I know I should drop it, but I can’t. I’m filled with this fierce need to know, and a simultaneous desire to make it right, and both are too strong to ignore. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “There’s nothing to help with. It’s a woman thing. And did you hear me? You don’t need to pay for mine.”

“Well, I am.” My brows pinch as I take in what she said, and after the server comes by and takes my debit card, I ask, “You mean your period?”

“Yes, Fletcher.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean my period.”

I’m no less confused, and I definitely need to shut my mouth, but of course, I don’t. “Okay, but why would that cause such a drastic change in your mood? Don’t you get those every month?”

If looks could kill, then Georgia would’ve already murdered me. “Yes, I get them every month, but since I have PCOS, mine are god awful, and I can always tell when it’s about to show up because I’m hit with the most horrendous cramps that make me feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“And that’s what just happened?” I ask. “The cramps?”

Georgia nods, her lips pressed in a thin line and her jaw tight, and it takes less than a second for me to realize something.

“I’m ordering an Uber.” Grabbing my phone, I pull up the app while I wait for the server to come back with my card.

“Why?” she snaps, like what I said personally offended her.

“Uh, because you don’t feel well?” I look up from the phone, confused by her reaction. “You don’t need to rollerblade back to your house when you’re in pain.”

It’s right there on the tip of her tongue to argue with me, but instead she remains quiet, because I’m sure she realizes it’s a good idea.

I finish ordering the ride right as the server drops my card off, and by the time I sign the receipt and we make our way to the front of the building, the car is waiting for us.

On the short drive home, Georgia’s visibly uncomfortable. Her face is flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat lines her forehead. As soon as we get inside the house, she turns to me. “Thank you,” she says. “For lunch, and for the Uber. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no big deal, Peach.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

She holds my gaze, and it feels like electricity bouncing between us.

My heart races, and my lips tingle as my eyes dip down and look at hers, remembering what it felt like kissing her and wanting to do it again.

But then Georgia blinks, and the moment passes.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” she announces before disappearing into her room for the rest of the night. Deciding to get some homework done, I grab my laptop out of my backpack and take it outside, but I can’t seem to focus. My mind keeps going back to Georgia, and to what she said earlier .

So, instead of doing the homework I need to do, I google the term she mentioned: PCOS. I’ve heard it before, but I don’t have a damn clue what it means, and apparently, I’m not getting shit done until I do.