Page 56 of Right Where I Want You

“So? If I were in his position, and we both wanted that kiss, I wouldn’t let anyone stopme.”

“Frankand I are clicking,” she said, scowling. “There was even mention of spending time at hissummerhouse.”

“Hamptons?”

She coughed into her fist. “BocaRaton.”

The idea of Georgina spending a summer with a closeted vampire in Boca Raton was tragic enough that I almost smiled. I got the sense she was playing up the date. If it was so great, why wasn’t she sitting here with him? And why was I more relieved than smug about that? “Meanwhile, Justin and I will be clamming inMontauk.”

“You two should really just make it official and announce your love to theworld.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to flirt with prettygirls.”

“For someone who pretends to have as much game as you,” she said, “I still haven’t seen you successfully flirt withanygirls since I’ve knownyou.”

“How do you know I’m not flirting with you rightnow?”

The slight tint of her cheeks was worth stepping out on a limb. “I saidsuccessfully,” sheretorted.

I didn’t mean to ask it, but the question had come out, a natural response. Because flirting came easy to me, and Ihadflirted with her once. Before I’d known who she was. I’d been wondering whether I’d jumped to conclusions about Georgina since my talk with Libby, and I couldn’t forget she was a threat to my job—but could she be more than that too? The way her personality flipped on a dime, I still couldn’t tell. Seeing how someone her size handled Bruno, not just physically but shouldering the weight of his illness, caring for him the way she did . . . it aligned with the strength she’d exuded in front of a roomful of strangers. But it also hinted at the sweet, vulnerable side of her I’d only gotten glimpses of. Which had left me only more confused about who Georgina reallywas.

At the moment, she was pink-nosed, sweet smelling, and throwing snark in my direction. “What was that?” I pretended not to hear her so I could scoot to the edge of mystool.

“I said I still haven’t seen you flirtsuccessfully.”

I set an elbow on the table. “Maybe I ought to come down and get some tips from Mr. Boca Raton. Or you could ditch him and come sit withus.”

“What would be the fun in that?” she asked. “I know you and Justin are having the time of your lives analyzing my first-datemoves.”

I wasn’t sure about that. Watching them had made me want to interrupt, the same way I’d had to refrain from interjecting when they’d met at happy hour. Was it just François who got under my skin, or was it herwithhim? That sounded an awful lot likejealousy.

“Can I give you your hat back now?” sheasked.

If her flushed cheeks were any indication, Georgina burned easily. Those little freckles were endearing, but there was nothing cute about skin cancer. “Not ’til the sun goes down,buns.”

Her mouth fell open. “Buns? What does thatmean?”

“Yournickname.”

She gasped and covered the seat of her jeans. “Did I sit insomething?”

“Buns doesn’t have to mean butt. It can mean hotdog buns, hamburger buns, stickybuns.”

“Manbuns,” she offered, her eyes glimmering. “Oh, I know. This is because I tried to wear my hair in a bun the otherday.”

“I remember that.” She’d come to work in glasses with her hair spooled on top of her head looking like she’d walked out of the sexy geekette spread Derek had been trying to get us to run since her PowerPoint. I reached up and fingered some strands of her hair. “Little pieces kept fallingout. . .”

“I was running late that day, and I ran out of time to . . .” She seemed to lose her train of thought as I twirled the hair around my index finger. “Have you guys been calling me that the wholetime?”

“It’s not a bad thing. It could also mean honeybuns.”Honeybuns? Christ, I was cheesy and nearly on the edge of my seat, but I couldn’t seem to tear myself away. I released the tendril. “Or my personal favorite—cinnamonbuns.”

“Your fascination with cinnamon borders ontroubling.”

Tell me about it. Dunkin’ Donuts made a mean cinnamon bun, but it was the sprinkles dusted on her nose that had myattention.

“Cinnamon doesn’t annoy me. Being likened to a cinnamon bundoes.”

I’d never called her one, and damn if her response hadn’t been cute, especially with her pouting over it the way she wasnow.