Chapter 33: Connor's POV (Chapter 14)

As promised, here is Connor's POV of Chapter Fourteen. If you've forgotten, this is the chapter after the party. Oh, and I'm aware that I suck at writing in a guy's POV. So sorry if he sounds like the girliest guy ever. Enjoy :-)

NOTE TO THE READER: This is a BONUS chapter. If you're here straight after reading Chapter 14 of the original story, I strongly advise against reading this. It'll ruin the entire story for you. I know some of you will do it anyway, but this chapter is NOT part of the original story. It is not intended to be read until you have finished the book. Please don't ruin it for yourself.

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“But babe,” Charlotte drawls, not removing her hands from their interlocking position behind my neck, “why can’t I just stay over?”

I resist the urge to push her away from me. We’re standing in the middle of the living room, and the two of us are the only ones left in the house after tonight’s party. I’ve managed to turf everybody else out, but Charlotte’s clinginess is proving something of a challenge. She’s obviously drunk, but even sobriety wouldn’t make her a great deal more appealing. With lip gloss smudged down her chin and a tendency to giggle at everything I say, I’m finding her the most irritating she’s been since we started dating.

“You can’t,” I say, trying to feign disappointment. “My mom will kill me. She’ll be getting home soon.”

I know for a fact that Mom won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon, but Charlotte doesn’t know that. When I first started dating her, I knew she had a reputation, but I failed to realize how much of it was actually true. She’s constantly all over me, no matter where we are, and PDA doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. In fact, it seems to be one of her favorite pastimes. Sure, it comes in handy when Georgie’s around – the only reason I’m putting up with Charlotte is to get under her skin – but most of the time I wish Charlotte came with an off switch. She may be hot, but I couldn’t be less attracted to her if I tried.

“We can be quiet,” Charlotte whispers, giggling stupidly. “And I can climb out of your window if she comes home early. Come on… it’ll be exciting.”

“No.” My voice comes out snippier than I intended. “Not tonight, okay? You can’t stay over.”

She frowns, peering at me closely. Then, as if realizing I’m serious, she retracts her arms and folds them over her chest. I try to soften my expression, but it’s difficult to mask the glare I want to give her.

“Fine,” she says sharply. “Suit yourself.”

She snatches up her purse from the couch, visibly irritated. I know there’ll be hell to pay for pissing her off, especially when she finally sobers up, but I can’t deal with her right now. A night spent with my drunk, clingy girlfriend doesn’t sound particularly tempting – and even less so when I’ve got a whole house to clear up before my mom comes home and kills me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow!” I call after Charlotte’s retreating back in a pitiful attempt to defuse the situation. However, she doesn’t respond, instead heading (a little unsteadily) to the door and slamming it behind her.

I swear, dealing with that girl is like handling a grenade.

The sound of the door echoes throughout the house and I take a breath of relief. I’m not sure what time it is, but the last of the partygoers have finally vacated the place. I hadn’t wanted them here, but what else was I supposed to do when Georgie had already spread the word? I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of sending everybody away; my only option had been to pretend I’d been prepared for this all along.

What I hadn’t expected was for her to show up at the party she’d so carefully organized. I thought by now she’d grasped the fact I didn’t want anything to do with her. The last I’d seen she’d got a little carried away with her drinking; every time I think about the way Josh had been leering at her, anger courses through me. He’d been eyeing her like a piece of meat, and I know he wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of her. Part of me had wanted to step in and stop him, tell him to get his nasty hands off her and get lost, but I couldn’t. I’ve already made up my mind: I have to stay away from Georgie. I can’t get close to her again. She hurt me, she made me a target, and there’s no way I’m going to let it happen again.

Looking around the room, I survey the damage. Although it may be empty of people, the mess left behind has enough presence of its own. The pungent smell of alcohol is lingering in the air, plastic cups litter the surfaces and there’s a suspicious looking stain on the carpet. The place is a wreck.

Brilliant.

I know I’m going to have to make a start if there’s to be any hope of the place looking presentable before tomorrow, but the thought doesn’t exactly fill me with determination. Although I didn’t drink much, my head feels a little fuzzy and sleep is growing more appealing by the second. It’s only the thought of being grounded for life that stops me from crashing right there on the couch. Instead, I run a hand through my messy hair and make for the bathroom where I’m sure some cleaning supplies are stashed.

However, when I push the door open, I find a lot more than cleaning supplies.

Sprawled on the floor beneath the toilet is a figure with a familiar head of blonde curls. Recognition sweeps over me and for a moment I stand frozen in the doorway, the scene failing to register in my mind. What is Georgie doing here? The last of the guests left a while ago, and I had just assumed she was with them. She was drunk, but her house is next door; I figured she could make it that far.

I edge towards her, stepping gingerly over her legs. Her face is pressed up against the tiled floor and, I realize with a wave of relief, the steady movement of her chest means she’s still breathing. Strands of hair have fallen across her cheeks and I push them back before my hand moves slowly to her arm.

“Georgie?” I say quietly, nudging her. There’s no visible response, so I try again. “Georgie...”

My mind is racing; I don’t know what to do. I can’t just leave her here, but anything else would go against my stay away policy. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remind myself of what she did to hurt me, especially when her sleeping expression is this close.

Do I leave her until she wakes up and can make her own way home?

Do I help her?

What am I supposed to do?

***

As I turn off the shower and step out into the bathroom, there’s a noise from the next room.

It’s barely audible: nothing more than the faint rustling of sheets from a few meters away. I probably wouldn’t notice it at all if my ears weren’t so hypersensitive to any type of movement on the other side of the door. Immediately, the pace of my heart quickens. I’d carried Georgie up here last night and let her sleep in my bed, but that was when she was lacking consciousness. Who can say what her reaction will be when she finds out she crashed here? I’m supposed to hate her, after all.

Surely someone who hated her wouldn’t go through all that trouble to help her?

Securing a towel around my waist, I head for the door. You don’t care about her, I tell myself furiously. You just did what you had to do. You hate her.

My gaze is immediately drawn to the middle of the room – more specifically, my bed – as soon as I step out, and my suspicions are confirmed. Georgie, wearing a T-shirt that hangs off her small frame, is sat up, awake and fully alert. Our eyes lock and her jaw drops; I can almost see the million thoughts scrambling through her mind as the realization sinks in.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound unfazed. Even though, in fact, I am completely fazed. “You’re awake.”

“Um, yeah...” She coughs. “Uh... I’m in your bed.”

I send her a flat look, but then drag my gaze away and head to my dresser. I hope my confidence is convincing, because in all honesty, my lack of clothing in her presence is unnerving me more than I’d like to admit. “Well done, genius,” I say sarcastically, but I’m wondering what’s running through her head.

“Let me rephrase that.” Her voice is louder, more assured. “Why exactly am I in your bed?”

I don’t answer, instead choosing to focus on pulling a pair of boxers and some pants from my drawer. I feel awkward as I pull them on, hoping that she’s not paying too much attention, but I’ve got a funny feeling she is.

“Seriously, why?” comes her persistent voice.

“God, calm down,” I snap, rolling my eyes and spinning back to face her. I know she’s assuming the worst, but the thought just gets me even more riled up. The image of her and Josh is making an unwelcome reappearance, and the words are escaping me before I realize. “It’s not like I assaulted you or anything. If anything, I saved you from it. Especially with the way Josh was groping you last night.”

“Groping me?” Horrified is the only way to describe her expression.

“Yeah. It didn’t look like you were in any hurry to push him away, either.”

“Oh my God...” she says, raising a hand to her head and wincing. I feel a twinge of sympathy, imagining the severity of her hangover, before I remember I’m supposed to hate her. “What else happened?”

“Do you have to ask so many questions?” I demand. Then, I sigh. “You drunk too much and passed out in the bathroom after puking everywhere. I found you and brought you up here. Is that enough info for you?”

“Great...”

She looks down at the covers, picking at a loose thread I’m not even sure exists. Her uneasiness is clear, and suddenly I’m overtaken a rush of irritation. Is she purposely trying to make this hard for me? How am I supposed to forget about our friendship when she keeps making appearances like this? This party would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if she’d have just kept away.

“Why were you even here, anyway?” The glare on my face suddenly becomes a little easier to fake. “You should know by now that you’re not wanted.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...” She holds her hands up. “You don’t have to be so harsh about it.”

“Yes, I do. I hate you,” I force out. “When are you going to finally get that?”

For a moment she just blinks at me, like she can’t quite believe what I’m saying. I hold her gaze and for a moment I want to take it back, to assure her that I don’t feel that way, that for some inexplicable reason I can’t hate her as much as I want to. But I can’t. It’d ruin everything, and it’d only end with me making myself a target again. I won’t let that happen.

Georgie seems to have recovered from her initial shock; suddenly, she’s glaring back at me with surprising severity. “If you hate me so much, why did you let me sleep in your bed? You could’ve just left me on the bathroom floor.”

What am I supposed to say to that? I open my mouth, hoping something smart will come out, but it doesn’t. My frustration increases when I catch sight of Georgie’s smirking expression; she knows she’s finally caught me off guard.

“I… I just…”

The smug smile grows, as does my irritation. “Well, I wasn’t going to just leave you there, was I?” I snap. “You could’ve puked everywhere… although you already had.” I think back to the half an hour spent cleaning the bathroom last night, all while Georgie had been sleeping soundly upstairs. And it was her fault the party even happened in the first place.

“So you’d rather have me puke in your bed?” She raises her eyebrows at the flaw in my explanation.

“Look, can you just be grateful that I actually did you a favor? Next time I’ll just leave you there.”

Silence descends upon the room, bringing with it an almost tangible awkwardness. Georgie ducks her head, seemingly fascinated once again by the comforter over her lap. A brief pause later, I hear her take a deep breath. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “It was a bad idea to drink so much, anyway. I just got a little carried away.”

A little? She’d got “carried away” to the point of letting Josh salivate all over her. Still, I can sense the sincerity in her voice, and it’s effective in holding back my snippy retort.

“No kidding,” I say instead. “You know, it’s pretty funny seeing you drunk. Did you know you talk in your sleep? You should’ve heard some of the things you were saying.”

Her head snaps upward and I smirk. So maybe the little snuffling noises she’d been making didn’t exactly count as speech, but I can’t resist seeing her alarmed expression.

“Like what?”

“Nothing much…” I drawl, unable to resist. “It was interesting to hear your feelings about me, though.”

“Uh, what feelings?”

I smirk a little more, just as it crosses my mind how cute her bewildered expression is. Stop it, I remind myself fervently, but my brain doesn’t seem to be listening. “Oh, just how hot you think I am… and how much of a crush you have on me.”

Her jaw drops open and a pink flush creeps onto her cheeks. I continue staring back at her for a few moments before the overwhelming urge to laugh seizes me. When she realizes I’m joking, a flicker of relief crosses her eyes but she folds her arms huffily. “Jerk,” she accuses. “Don’t do stuff like that to me. I honestly can’t remember a thing.”

“You fell for it though.” Without thinking, I grin. It’s a few seconds later that I realize what I’m doing, causing me to wipe the smile off my face abruptly. “Yeah, whatever. You’re awake now, so you can leave.”

She looks a little surprised by my sudden mood swing, but goes to get out of bed. “Okay, fine.” Before she can swing her feet over, however, her attention is caught by something on the opposite side of the room. My eyes follow hers, landing on the clothing draped over the back of my chair. The dress she was wearing last night. She turns back to me, biting her lip. “Um, did I… change, uh, myself?”

I look at the floor. She was in no state to even wake up, let alone dress herself. I had assumed finding her some clean pajamas came under the heading of “helping her”. Had I crossed some sort of line? Should I have just left her to sleep in what she’d already been wearing?

“Uh, no…” I say slowly. “I put the shirt on you. I thought it’d be comfier to sleep in, and besides… that dress was getting a little indecent.”

Her cheeks flame, and I rack my brains for something to say to reduce the awkwardness.

“But I didn’t… well, you know. I didn’t peek or anything.”

I didn’t peek? How could I not peek? I was undressing her, for crying out loud. I couldn’t exactly do it blindfolded. Still, she seems to have relaxed slightly, despite still blushing wildly.

“Right…” she says, and I wonder if it’s just the thought of me seeing her in her underwear that’s getting her flustered. “Well… thanks.”

“It’s okay.”

I continue staring at the hardwood floor beneath my feet, but I can tell Georgie’s eyes are trained on me. I can only see her peripherally, but that’s enough to notice the curiosity in her gaze, as if she can’t quite work me out. Which is a good thing.

I don’t want her to work me out.

Because look how well that turned out last time.

“Could you leave?” I say, keen to put a halt to her scrutinizing expression. “Charlotte’s coming over and I don’t want anyone to know I let you sleep here last night.”

She’s not, but I’m afraid that the longer Georgie stays, the harder it’ll be to convince myself that I hate her.

Especially when, deep down, I think I might be falling for her.

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So there you go. A little bonus chapter because you guys have been absolutely amazing these past few months. This is the last thing I'm writing for this story, and I really hope you've enjoyed it.

As promised, I am doing a one shot competition. I will be posting details of that in a few days' time, so keep a lookout.