Wild(103)

            “Same here with my mom.”

            “Mom never liked Tiffany.”

            I didn’t really care to talk about the girl who had briefly replaced me. I supposed I should be curious. Weren’t ex-girlfriends always curious about their replacements?

            Shaking my head, I looked out the window at the passing lights of the Muskogee’s main street, aptly named Main Street. It was a short ride to the restaurant. It wasn’t very crowded. We probably didn’t even need a reservation. They seated us near the large brick-oven fireplace that they cooked their pizzas in and the heavenly aroma of rosemary and olive oil and bread washed over me.

            Harris didn’t even open the menu. When the waiter brought our water he ordered his usual, chicken picatta, and my usual, baked ziti. It was my old life again. Harris in the driver’s seat. Ordering for me. Shit, how did this happen? I hate this life.

            “Wait,” I said, stopping the waiter and quickly glancing over the menu. “I’ll have the small Hawaiian pizza.”

            Nodding, the waiter took our menus and left.

            “Pineapple on your pizza?” He wrinkled his nose. “Since when?”

            “I do a lot of things now I didn’t use to do.”

            He stared hard at me for a long moment. “Yeah. So I’ve heard.”

            Ah. Facebook. Suddenly, I was thankful for my life being plastered all over social media. I was glad he knew that I was different now and not the girl he broke up with all those months ago. I smiled thinly and took a sip of my water.

            “So let’s talk.” He flattened his hands on top of the table like he was about to discuss some important business negotiation.

            I shrugged. “Let’s.”

            He frowned. “You sound bitter, Georgia.”

            “Oh, why would you think that? I’m on a date with you against my will. My mother is doing everything in her power to keep me here instead of going back to Dartford.”

            “Maybe it’s for the best. Those friends of yours . . . I never liked them.”

            I laughed harshly. “Pepper and Em? Oh, they’re bad influences, are they?”

            “Yeah.” He looked me up and down, and then leaned across the table to hiss, “You went to a sex party.”

            I laughed even harder, indifferent to the stares swinging our way from other tables.

            “Who would have ever thunk it, right?” I took a savoring sip of water. “Boring Georgia getting kinky. An old dog can learn new tricks.”

            That succeeded in pissing him off. His face flushed. He always got splotchy when he got mad. But behind his anger there was something else in his eyes. A light of interest as he looked me over. Like the things I might have learned without him intrigued him. Pig. Suddenly I had no appetite.

            When he reached for my hand across the table, I tried to slide it away, but he tightened his grip and squeezed my fingers. “I missed you.”

            “Did you?” I angled my head, the end of my ponytail sliding over my shoulder.

            “Did you miss me?” he asked, sticking out his bottom lip. I knew he thought he looked adorable when he did that because he had told me so.

            I studied him, thinking, trying to feel inside whether even a small part of me had missed him. That first month after the breakup I had been crushed. Hurt. Angry. But had I really missed him?

            The last couple years of our relationship had felt like a lot of work. It had been a long time since I’d felt relaxed and enjoyed myself around him.